


What's Best for You

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Hog, Canon-Typical Violence, Coma, Critically Wounded Character, Driving while Intoxicated, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Heist Planning, Hospitalization, Indiscriminate murder and violence, Junkers in love, Los Muertos, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Questionably safe and definitely irresponsible uses of Hogdrogen, Raves, Reluctant Talon Junkers, Rimming, Separated Junkers, Strangulation, Suicide Idealization, Voyeurism, public intoxication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: After Junkrat is severely injured and Roadhog is faced with an impossible choice, the pair struggle to make sense of the bond they have formed in the wake of their destruction.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hooley Dooley, Hoggy! I love when they chase us on their tiny bikes!" Junkrat precariously balanced himself about 75% of the way out of his sidecar, booted foot propped on Hog's leg. He gripped a metal tire spike on his partner's shoulder, pulling himself to a better vantage point as he lobbed grenades from his launcher at the pursuing motorcycle cops.

"Sit down, Rat!" Roadhog roared over the engines and the sirens. He put his hand on Rat's head and shoved him down. "I'm putting a seatbelt in that car the second we get out of this!"

"How can ya ogle my ass if it's buckled down?" Rat wiggled it for emphasis before leaping entirely out of the sidecar and onto Hog's shoulder. An annoyed rumble from Hog was cut short when a police car tore up the connecting street on Hog's side of the chopper. "I gotcha, mate!" Rat yelled way too close to his ear. Four more rapid succession grenades smashed the windshield and spun the vehicle out of control.

"You have a death wish!" Hog yelled, reaching one of his big hands up to secure his partner's seat straddling his shoulder. He immediately realized his mistake as Rat began to grind his crotch against his shoulder. Harsh, breathy giggles escaped his mouth as he continued to rub against his bodyguard while reloading his launcher.

"You know how to treat a fella right, Hoggo. Beautiful Geneva night, wind ripping through me hair, my Hoggy- ROADHOG AHEAD!"

Three police cars blazed directly towards them, sirens screeching. Roadhog spun the chopper down the nearest street, barely keeping it under control.

A barricade of police cars, spiked strips, sandbags awaited them.

Roadhog always prided himself on his good senses on the bike. He wasn't the type to be scared into swerving to avoid a cat or small child. If you can eat it in one sitting, you shouldn't swerve for it. Someone told him that once and it stuck with him. "So you would hit me? You can eat me in one sitting," Rat's shrill voice making that dumb joke god knows how long ago rang in his head.

But Roadhog made a mistake. He knew slamming on the brakes or running into the barricade would mean capture. His mind running on adrenaline alone wrongly determined that would be the worst case. So he swerved, harshly and to the right. The chopper hopped the curb, narrowly missed a light pole and sailed through the glass display window of a florist.

A sickening crunch of metal, smashing of glass and cracking of bones and a scream cut short. The sidecar separated from the bike entirely, as a structural beam won the strength contest. It flew straight into the back room with a plume of petals and debris. Roadhog and his bike slammed through the wooden counter. His back took most of the brunt, his skull thankfully protected by dozens of stacked bundles of carnations behind the counter. The world buzzed for a moment, everything out of focus. He was alive, he knew that much, but he hadn't seen where Rat landed. The store's burglar alarm rang out alerting the police officers that a break-in had occurred. Fortunately for the florist, the cops were already there. Unfortunately for the florist, the shop was decimated.

After punching a canister of Hogdrogen into his mask, Hog drug himself blearily to his feet. The shards of glass that had lodged themselves in his skin pushed their way free as smaller wounds healed over. The canister dropped to the floor with a tin clatter. His last one. Damn if this night could not have gone to shit harder or faster.

But he had to find Rat.

He wiped blood away from his mask lenses, propping himself against the destroyed counter. Rat's bandolier rested on a jutting piece of wood within reach. The strap had been torn off him as Hog had made a failed attempt to hold onto his partner when they crashed through the window. An enormous gash of blood painted the glistening shards and sprinkled the potted plants and displayed bouquets like morning dew.

A megaphone called from outside the shop.

"Come out with your hands where we can see them!"

Hog yanked the bandolier from the counter and plucked off a grenade. Just as Rat had shown him, he pulled the pin with his teeth and tossed it out the broken store window with little regard for where it actually landed ("Isn't that how you lost that tooth?" Hog had asked him. "Sure, mate, but when you lose it once, you can just pop it back in after that!") Officers yelled out warnings as a small explosion shattered the tense air. Just needed to buy himself time to find Rat, then they could make their escape.

"Rat..." Hog wheezed, stepping back into the shop. He followed the blood stain, the pit falling out of his stomach as he found where his partner landed.

The shopkeeper must have been filling a large order for potted sunflowers before she closed up for the night. Rat was sprawled across their black and yellow faces, his gangly limbs bent in sickening directions. The impact tore his prosthetic arm off and launched it into the drywall. He lay, unmoving. Hog didn't see the worst of it until knelt beside his partner and rolled him onto his side. A huge chunk of glass cleanly sliced across his stomach, pink organs revealed beneath. Broken nose, broken bones, black eyes, glass embedded everywhere.

Hog closed his eyes, leaning his ear to Rat's chest, listening for the most important sound. For a moment he heard nothing but his own pounding heart. Then it came: Rat's faint, ragged, wet breathing, simultaneously the most comforting and horrifying sound. If he's breathing he's still alive, Hog told himself over and over and over again.

Hog reached a shaky hand out, wanting to touch his skin, too afraid of the immense pain he might cause. Instead he plucked a few sunflower petals from his straw hair. Rat's breathing gurgled, a line of blood spilling from his mouth. Roadhog turned his head away.

***

"Don't throw yer life away for mine, mate," Hog remembered Rat saying, years ago. The soft, blue TV light illuminated his bright eyes in the dim Hanamura hotel room. "I know yer my bodyguard an' all, but-" He stopped and leaned over Hog, thin fingers gripping the sides of his mask and turning the snout towards him. "I need ta know yer listenin', Hoggy."

Roadhog gave him a disinterested grunt, but he did stare up into those eyes as he lay on the bed beside his partner. No one had eyes like Junkrat. That night they were not darting around nervously or narrowing as if trying to recover a lost memory. They were focused, staring straight through the Hog's lenses.

"Yer supposed ta protect me when ya can, but if shit goes south, Roadie, and you know ya can't save me, jus' toss me into the nearest dumpster and get the hell outta there."

Roadhog snorted. That made Rat furrow his brows in frustration.

"I'm serious, mate! Ya know the last thing I want is to die on a sterile table with doctors proddin' away at me innards."

Roadhog grunted in agreement, closing his eyes but that did not satisfy Rat.

"Roadie," Rat pinched his snout again. "I know this isn't the most fun thing to talk about, but we gotta. We're gettin' larger scores, just started takin' our two-man freak show to the rest of the world. I need ta know that you understand."

"If I can't save you," Hog started, swatting Rat's hand from his nose. "I won't get myself killed-"

"Or captured," Rat interrupted.

"Or captured trying to get you help." Rat nodded in agreement but Hog went on. "And same goes for you. And if I am busted up beyond repair, you better not try to save me. No way your skinny ass can roll me to the nearest doctor."

Rat giggled and crawled on top of Hog, flesh fingers digging into his pecs. He slowly started rubbing himself against his gut as Roadhog's hands engulfed his hips and guided him up and down. "If my Hog goes down," His voice was low and dangerous. "I'll prop myself jus' like this, strap all the C-4 in the world to us, wait till they got us good and surrounded and then KABOOM, goodbye world, hello afterlife."

Hog frown behind the mask at him, dropped his hands from his hips. Rat cocked his head in confusion.

"Junkrat, Australia's criminal mastermind, blowing himself up because his fat, old bodyguard kicks it? Seems like an anti-climactic way to go."

"Anti-climactic?" Rat was downright offended by the suggestion. "Nothin' is more climactic than showering the world in yer bits as ya take out a couple city blocks. Maybe they'll even name it after us when they rebuild it."

"Naming streets after the criminals is not exactly a common practice."

"We could be the first, right?"

Roadhog shrugged and traced his thumbs back up along Rat's hipbones, digging them into his skin until Rat gave a sound somewhere between a yelp and a moan. "The world would be a darker place without you."

"Sure would. A lot less fire."

"I'm serious, Rat.” Sentiment didn’t come easily to Roadhog. Rat better appreciate it when it did.

"Tha’s real sweet of ya, Hogs, but we all gotta blow up someday. Me sooner than most." He bit his lower lip with his snaggly teeth and reached out to tug on one of Hog's nipple rings.

Using sex as a distraction method was an underhanded tactic, but one they both used to their advantage when the situation called for it.

"Why don't we talk about this later?" Roadhog's voice was a low growl, one he knew Junkrat couldn't resist. He rolled on top of his squealing, laughing Rat and pinned his hands behind his head.

Rat brought up his wishes on several more occasions, usually after some brush with death or a particularly passionate fucking. Roadhog would always grunt, try to agree in as few of words as possible. He never took the requests seriously, never pressed him further to his underlying issues. Naively, he thought they would never be confronted with the situation.

***

He stared down at Junkrat's broken body. Nausea roiled through Hog's stomach but he gritted his teeth and he pushed it back. Hog ran a blood-covered hand through his partner's patchy hair, some of the blond strands sticking to his hand. Rat and his damn hair always falling out.

_Have to do what he wanted. Have to. He's your boss, he calls the shots._

Taking in a wavering breath, Hog reached out and curled his fingers around Junkrat's neck. One hand more than did the trick to engulf his thin throat. Always had. Slowly he increased the pressure. He felt his partner's already-labored breath hitch. This is what Rat wanted. No doctors, no hospitals. Just end it here. The squeeze of his wind pipe against his palm, the feel of his Adam's apple. It was too familiar. Reminded him of the hundreds of other times he had done so, except those bright eyes blinked up at him, watery and pleading, mouth agape, fingers pulling at his hand. As he choked him now, he expected the signal from him, fingers suddenly tapping four times on his bicep and Hog would stop, pull Rat into his arms and hold him. Rat would wheeze, cough, mutter all manners of praises and thank yous. Something he would never hear again.

Roadhog released his throat like it shocked him. He couldn't fucking do this. It was more than just the thought of never being able to choke out Rat again, more than the thought of never fucking him. It was never again feeling his skinny body wracked with tremors calm as Hog pulled him close. Never lying awake watching Rat's mad genius at work as he sketched out the most implausible and creative plans. It was never seeing his eyes light up when Roadhog walked in the door, whether he was gone for fifteen minutes or two days. It was wholly selfish, Roadhog knew that. But he couldn't go through with it.

"You don't know, Rat. You just don't know..." He pulled Junkrat's body against his own.

"Mr. Rutledge," a new voice, female and soothing, came over the megaphone. Hog snarled. A damn hostage negotiator. He could tell immediately by the use of his real name. They must have had one on hand in case innocent civilians were involved (not an uncommon occurrence with the two of them). He hated dealing with them, so patronizing.

"We have the building surrounded. We know Mr. Fawkes is hurt." The megaphone voice pealed into the shop. "Ambulances are here. We will take your partner to the hospital if you lay your weapons down and come out with your hands up."

It made his stomach turn, the thought of handing Rat over to them, even to save his life. But at some point long ago Rat unknowingly had destroyed Hog's resolve to follow his orders. He couldn't be the one responsible for extinguishing those bright, orange eyes, full of life, chaos, adoration. His mind was already made up.

"You're gonna hate me if you wake up. This is my fault. But I need to give you the chance to be alive somewhere hating me."

 _Locked up in a cell where you'll never see him again._ He cast the thought aside.

Roadhog shifted Junkrat into the crook of his arm as he slowly began to make his way to the front of the store. He hated how tiny and frail Rat looked in his arms, this towering, larger-than-life man. Outside, every cop in the damn city must have been standing at the ready. At least two dozen guns focused on him. The hostage negotiator stood near the front, her blond hair rippling and her kind eyes fixed on his. Above the first level of shops, he could see faces of hundreds of people watching this scene unfold from their homes. The flashing lights, the shattering glass, bombs exploding, sirens blaring- the entire city must be awake and watching.

"Mr. Rutledge, please drop your weapons. We do not want to hurt you or Mr. Fawkes."

With his free hand, he unattached his massive hook from his hip and threw it into the street, the loud clatter ringing out. Faces in the upper windows winced. The tension was palpable, at any moment, everyone feared him unloading the massive scrap gun into them. Instead, he tossed it from his back, along with his backup shotgun. A small moan emitted from Rat's mouth, almost as if he was protesting what was happening.

"Okay," the negotiator called to him. "Lay him on the ground in front of you and get down on your stomach with your hands behind your back. We have medical professionals standing by. They will attend to Mr. Fawkes when you are fully restrained."

 _No choice, I have no choice,_ Hog told himself over and over as he knelt on the ground. Gently, he placed Junkrat in the street in front of him, passing a thumb over his cold forehead one last time before moving back and lying face down on the pavement.

Orders were shouted in French as a team of officers shuffled into position. They had no reason to trust him now, so they took every precaution, approaching him from behind. Massive cuffs, those fancy first-world cuffs made out of beams of light, unable to be broken, snapped into place, linking his wrists together. His eyes fixed on Junkrat, no notion of escaping even crossed his mind.

"Easy does it," one said behind him as they eased him onto his feet. "We're going to walk to that truck."

Of course, an armored truck. They came prepared for a monster of a man and a lunatic bomber who had busted out of their fair share of regulation cop cars. He trudged along with them, keeping his eyes on the limp body of his partner.

True to their word, a team of EMTs sprinted out with a gurney as soon as he was cuffed. The police officers guiding Hog to the truck prodded him along with the butt ends of their guns as the medical team approached. They carefully lifted Junkrat up onto the gurney, moving with a quickness and delicacy that gave Hog hope that this was not all an act and they would do their best to save him. They strapped Rat in, placed a breathing apparatus over his face and they ran off with him, wheeling him back to the ambulance. When the police and Roadhog reached the armored vehicle, his ankles were bound with similar cuffs as the ones used on his wrists and he was locked in place to the wall of the truck. The last he saw of his Rat was his wild blond hair caked with blood and dirt before the back door of the truck slammed shut, leaving Hog in total darkness.

Hog was jolted into a two-year-old memory. Blackout in Paris. It is true that your other senses are heightened when sight goes away. The novelty of the darkness lit something within both of them in their pitch black hotel room. Roadhog would never forget how he sensed Rat that night. His smell- gun powder, metal, dirt, musk, sweat, chocolates they had stolen from a dozen other rooms on their floor. His touch as he climbed on top of him, cold and warm hands caressing his body. The taste of Rat's salty skin. His voice giggling at his sudden sightlessness, but softer, less grating. The whispered "I love yous" over and over again into Hog's lips and skin with no expectation of them being returned. There was an unspoken understanding of Hog's affections. Unspoken. He wished he had just said it.

The armored truck roared to life, the engine drowning out the groan that escaped his mask as Roadhog sank to his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally just supposed to be a one-shot, but I’m weak and kept thinking about what would happen to the Junkers. If you're a sick person who prefers to think Junkrat died after the first chapter, I apologize. My first multipart fic, so we'll see how it goes!

Hearing always came back first. Junkrat had been knocked unconscious enough to know that by now. Roadhog's voice, in addition to being the world's best aphrodisiac, usually did an excellent job of easing him into the waking world with a slew of insults to his intelligence and his ability to function as a human being. That always brought a smile to his lips. Hog blabbering away about him being a dumbfuck was still Hog talking in that bass voice he never got tired of. Sense of touch came next, Hog smacking him upside the head. Each smack, not usually too hard, coincided with an insult. That formula did the trick: Roadhog's voice + Roadhog's smacks + Roadhog's insults = Junkrat waking up.

The fact that Junkrat had none of those things is almost certainly why he stayed in a coma for three weeks.

He dreamed. Nightmares of omnics, their faces cold, unfeeling, monstrous. First they tore him limb from limb, then they put him back together. Their metal fingers touched his entire body, places and ways that made him want to vomit. The most horrendous part of these dreams were the pitches that screamed from their unmoving mouths. He didn't even want to compare them to the ticking of his bombs. That at least would have been pleasant, familiar. The beeping sounds they made reminded him of a horrible machine he and Hog had found with a cello they relieved from its owner. Roadhog had called it something. A gnome? A metro-gnome? That tiny box of terror produced the most unsettling, unyielding beeps, always in time, never faltering. Rat despised it. Whenever Junkrat was misbehaving in a real way, Roadhog would turn it on at full volume, hold it over his head to keep him from getting to it. He could read those nasty numbers and see the flashing lights, but couldn't reach it. The first moment Hog let his guard down, Rat viciously destroyed the evil box.

The beeping continued even when the omnics were not present in his dreams. It became easier to ignore in the dreams where he had the freedom to move. In most of those, he was alone in the Outback, running, pursued, but not by any seen force. The landscape was barren, even for the Outback's standards, rarely a burned out hut or broken fence to be seen. In his endless, exhausted trudge through the desert, he saw oases, not of water or shade but of endless piles of scrap stacked to the sky. No matter how far he ran, he could never get to them. It had been so long since he had really scrapped, gotten his hands filthy in a massive stack of trash. Not since he and Hog left Oz. Left Oz? They had, hadn’t they? And where was Roadie?

Oh, there he is, of course, standing in a field of flowers. Those big ugly ones with the dark brown faces and yellow petals. Rat wasn't sure why people liked him.

"They're like flowers for people who don't like 'em real delicate!" He shouted to Roadhog. Rat ran his hand along them, smacking their faces. “I suppose then maybe they’re good flowers for us, eh?” His partner continued standing and staring off at something in the distance. Typical Hog.

Junkrat beamed as one in particular grabbed his attention. The face was a little more faded than the rest and some of the petals around the edge were missing. He laughed quietly at first, then sudden uncontrollable frenzy swept through him, bending him over howling.

"Look, Roadie! Roadie! It's me!" He tried to slap his metal hand on his knee but it wasn't there so he slapped his flesh hand, more petals flying off it. "Look at 'is dumb face! He's got no hair left!"

Roadhog shook his head, finally turning towards him. "You don't know Rat. You just don't know..."

"Know what, Hoggy?" Junkrat asked, stifling back giggles and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. When Hog didn't answer him, Rat bounced on his heel. "Oh! You want me ta find one that looks like you too? On it, mate."

The thick flowers bumped against him as he sorted and waded his way through them. "Don't want my Hoggy to feel left out." It fell right into his hands, the biggest, thickest, most beautiful sunflower. "Here we go! Jus' like ya! Big, beautiful, luscious petals!"

Junkrat turned back to Roadhog. Hog had no face. No mask and no face. Just a blank slab of skin gazing back at him. 

"No no no no no no. Fuck no." He blocked that disgusting, empty face out with the sunflower head. "This ain't real. This isn't what he looks like. Roadie's showed me before. He's showed me. I know I've seen it."

Fuck, had he seen it? Roadhog's face? He must have. Broad nose, thick lips, grey bushy eyebrows, burns on his right cheek. Or was that just a good guess? He couldn't remember. 

"Big fuckin' surprise!" Junkrat screamed, throwing the flower at the lifeless, faceless husk of his bodyguard, towering over him. "Junkrat forgettin' somethin' again! I promised ya, didn't I? I promised ya I wouldn't forget. Not like I did yer name or... other things you've told me."

He dropped to his butt in the dirt, tremors wracking up and down his body, tears running down his cheeks. The gentle thunder of Roadhog’s feet sounded behind him, then his masked face was in front of his. Now he could see the eyes again behind the lenses, soft and pitying. Rat breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to pick at the familiar stitching on his nose.

"Junkrat." Massive thumbs pressed to his cheeks wiping away tears that cut through the grime. "You have to wake up."

"Wake up?" Rat pulled his knees to his chest, hooking his one arm around them. "That would explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

Roadhog pressed his snout to the top of Junkrat's head, then lumbered to his feet again, beginning to push his way through rows of sunflowers.

"Aren't ya comin' with, Roadie? Yer my bodyguard, fifty-fifty, remember?"

Hog turned his head slightly back at him, pointing up to the sky before continuing away.

The omnic beeping was back again. His foot and peg were under him again in a split second. He was poised to run again when he stopped himself. Wake up, Hog had said. Wake up. Junkrat squeezed his eyes shut. The beeping was fucking loud. His orange eyes flung open again. Still in the sunflower field. The omnics must be right almost here, closing in on him. He forced himself to close his eyes again. When the beeping grew louder and louder, he resisted the urge to open them with every fiber of his being and started counting on the off beats. Beep-1-beep-2-beep-3-beep-4-beep-5...

He drew in an shuttering, horrified breath and sat straight up in bed, eyes wide in terror. A hospital room. Pain blindsided him, shrieking through every inch of his body, making his vision go wonky. His body was fully encased in casts, bandages, bindings. His fake arm and leg were gone.

Rat opened his mouth and screamed. Screamed louder than when his leg was blown off, louder than when his arm was cut off, louder than the beeps from the life support machine, loud enough for everyone on that floor to hear him. He continued screaming as doctors in austere grey coats rushed in, pressing all manner of buttons, talking into all manner of devices, giving all manner of readings on their machines. He didn't stop screaming until a white-haired, solemn eyed doctor stabbed a syringe into him. The scream died out of his throat as he dropped back onto the bed and once again his eyes shut.

***

It didn't keep him knocked out for long. The beeping came back to his consciousness when all he could see was the back of his eyelids. Not omnics, okay, but he was in a hospital. Potentially worse. Definitely worse. The speed of the pulse increased as he opened his eyes. Some small amount of time had passed as all of the prying doctors and nurses were gone. He bit down the urge to scream again, not wanting to invite them back in.

Where the fuck was he?

The room was large, much larger than most hospital rooms he had seen before, though he made it his professional goal to avoid them. The walls were the same grey the nurses wore. All sorts of terrifying, lifesaving equipment blinked and beeped and chirped around his bed. However, those machines were not the most nerve-wracking feature of the room. That award belonged to the expansive, darkened window stretching across entirety of the wall facing his bed. It was the least subtle one-way window he had ever seen (he had much more experience with those, being in his fair share of police interrogation rooms). Dark shadows moved behind it. Why the fuck was that here?

Junkrat swallowed a scratchy gulp. He didn't want to look down at his body again. Was he even human anymore? Shit. Shit! He had to look. He turned his eyes down, a small whine escaping his lips. He breathed out in relief to see some of his own flesh, though not much. His half arm stump was not in a cast, but it was bound with bandages. His leg stump and two full limbs were engulfed in casts, all the way up to his shoulders. Tubes ran into his body, wires were attached. He might have still been human but didn't look it.

Pain hit him in a wave, deciding it had given him enough respite. It emanated from his gut first, an itchy, burning sensation that washed out to his broken legs and arm. He shook uncontrollably, teeth chattering together. The darkness behind the one-way window shifted, concerned. Three nurses pushed their way through the door with the white-haired doctor who knocked him out.

"Where the fuck am I?" Junkrat yanked his limbs against their bindings. He couldn't tell if they were restrained to keep him from harming himself or to keep him from escaping. Not that he could go far.

"Mr. Fawkes, we are pleased you are finally awake," she said not making eye contact as she flipped her finger across her tablet. Her accent was... European? Junkrat wasn't great at telling. Not Australian, he knew that. Her white hair was tied up in a tight bun, eyes dark and tired. She looked to be sixty maybe? Rat wasn't sure, ages were also not a strength of his. ("How old are ya, Roadie?" He had asked back in the Outback, a few months before he ever let him put his pig dick in him. "Thirty? Thirty-five?" Roadhog had laughed. "I can't tell if you're that dumb or if you're trying to flatter me. I'm 44." Junkrat had let out a long whistle. "Uhh, I was tryin' ta flatter you! 'Course!")

"My name is Dr. Schiller... Mr. Fawkes, I would ask that you remain calm and try not to move at this time."

"Remain calm? Remain calm?!! Fuck you, ya cunt!" Junkrat writhed against his bindings, growing more feral with each passing moment.

"We do not want to drug you again, but we will for your own safety."

Junkrat stopped moving, panting, the beeping from the machine rudely mocking his raised pulse.

"Where's Roadhog? Where am I?" He needed answers and throwing a tantrum wasn't the way to get them.

"You were in an accident. You have been in a coma for three weeks now." Her bedside manner was lacking to say the least as she read his info off like a shopping list. "We are treating number of broken bones in your body- legs, arm, fingers, ribs, the list goes on, in addition to a severe laceration across your abdomen. We removed glass and debris from the entirety of your body-"

He couldn't hear anymore, eyes darting around the room for anything familiar. "Where's Roadhog?" 

Dr. Schiller closed her eyes in annoyance for a moment, like she had been forewarned about Rat's insistence on asking this question. "I apologize, Mr. Fawkes, I have been strictly ordered against sharing any additional information with you, other than the details of your current medical condition."

No arms or legs to hit her with? Fine by him. He spat the largest gob of spittle he could muster in his dry mouth directly into her face. She continued to slow blink at him, wiping herself with a towel immediately handed to her by a nurse. 

"Mr. Fawkes-"

"STOP CALLIN' ME THAT!"

"Mr. Fawkes," This woman would not be deterred. "My team and I are the ones responsible for keeping you alive, which was no small task considering your state when you were relocated to this facility. For all our sakes, please-"

"Relocated?” He cocked his head and furrowed his brows. “The fuck ya mean relocated?" 

She pursed her lips, casting a glance at the dark window. Junkrat's eyes snapped back and forth between her and the window. "You weren't supposed ta tell me that, were ya? Who's back there?" He jerked his arm against the binding to gesture wildly and let out a yelp in pain.

An intense expression of concentration came over her face as she struggled to don some visage of bedside manner. "I am not the one to fill you in on these details you are looking for. I wouldn't want to give you an incomplete picture of what happened to you. I promise you, someone will be with you who can answer all your questions."

Junkrat raised his lip in a snarl but it melted into a whimper when it irritated his tender nose.

"If you cooperate with us, we can have you out of these casts and back on your feet in no time. They have healed remarkably well while you have been unconscious, but some intense physical therapy will be needed to get you back into working condition."

An accident. He vaguely remembered an accident. He and Roadhog had robbed a bank. They were escaping. He had been captured? Roadhog had been captured? Was Roadhog... no, he couldn't be.

"Physical therapy? Working condition?" Junkrat pulled the words out of air, silencing the doctor. "The hell are ya talkin' 'bout? Aren't ya sending me to prison?"

There it was again, another glance back at the dark window.

"Oi!" Junkrat shouted, staring straight at a shape in the darkness. "Seems like yer the one who can give answers! Come out here and fuckin' talk to me!"

"It would be best if you rested for now, Mr. Fawkes. This is a lot for someone to take in at once."

"No no no no," he protested, kicking his stump at her. "I need ta know now. Where is Roadie? Is he okay? He should be here. He's my bodyguard. He wouldn't leave me. Please please please." The beeping intensified to a point where Dr. Schiller shut the machine off. "I need him, he'll calm me down. I'll be good if he's here. Please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fawkes." She flicked another syringe, carefully measuring the liquid.

"No more drugs, I'll be good, I'll be good." His orange eyes filled with terror.

"For the pain," She said, though her eyes told him it was for her own pain more than anything. The needle slid into his skin and he hissed. A few more minutes of squirming passed before he rested once again.

Junkrat despised waking up from drug-induced slumbers. Hated doctors, hated hospitals. This was a fate worse than hell. Roadie must have tried to stop them from taking him, must have gotten himself captured. He knew he told Roadie not to send him to a hospital. How many times had Rat gone off about it, about wanting to die rather than go to a hospital and endure this kind of torture? Roadhog had a good memory, unlike Junkrat. He would remember.

Rat’s eyes flickered open, drawn immediately to a purple form beside his bed. Blinking, he attempted to focus. The figure of the woman reclining in a chair with her feet propped up on the end of his bed came into focus. She tapped away with long fingernails on a screen held in her hand. She glanced at him and a wide smile drew across her lips, realizing he was awake.

"Sombra?" Junkrat choked out in disbelief.

"Hola, Rat. Finally back from the dead?" Sombra waved her hand dismissing the screen of light back into the ether. "Welcome to Talon HQ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of canonical hints about the Junkers working with Sombra/Los Muertos during their Dorado bank heist and I’m looking forward to attempting to weave in the breadcrumbs of lore that Blizzard has given us.
> 
> My hope is to update regularly as I go!
> 
> As always, your comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat learns, Sombra plans.

"Ya don't even know how relieved I am to see ya, sheila." Rat blinked a couple more times and wiggled his broken leg to make sure he wasn't still in a drug-induced fever dream. Fuck, ouch, not dreaming.

Sombra was here. Everything was going to be okay. She was a lady with a plan. While Rat would consider himself a planner, his plans looked like the scribblings on the back of a child's placemat compared to hers… well, half the time his plans actually were scribblings on the back of placemats. Seeing her, seeing a familiar face, her half-shaved hair with the attached cybernetic nodes, that wry grin immediately calmed him more than any shot of drugs could.

"Haven't seen you since our little arrangement in Dorado." She grinned and leaned forward like she was going to squeeze his hand reassuringly but decided against it, seeing all the bandages and casts. Instead, she untied the few bindings that were hooking him to the bed. “This is the point where I’d say “You’re looking good, Rat” but you and I both know that’s a lie.”

“Yea, I don’t feel good either.” Rat looked down at his broken body, picking at the seams of his blanket. "Ya look good. More… purpley than last time, roight?” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, mate, I don’t mean to cut past the pleasantries, but you said Talon? What am I doing here?”

“Figured that would be your first question, considering your fit you had back there.” Sombra had popped the lid off a cup of jello that had been left for Rat in case he awoke and was hungry.

“So you’ve been the one standing back there “observing” me?” Rat gestured to the creepy-as-fuck window, throwing it an extra glare for good measure.

“Not me, I just got here.” She licked the jello lid. “Had to run out and attend to some business while you slept away a couple weeks. Wanted to be here when you woke, but seems like it didn’t quite work out like that. You had to have that awful Dr. Schiller bring you back to the world of the living. Lo siento, that’s rough.”

“She said I was in an accident.”

“Si, and you remember…?”

“Nothin’,” he tapped on his head. “Memory’s not great in the best of times. Tons of people without radiation-fried brains can’t remember accidents.”

Sombra raised her hand in the air, wired cybernetics running up each finger. There were some things that Rat was content not understanding. How Sombra managed to conjure tech out of midair was one of them. He considered himself more of an analog guy. She pressed her fingers into nothing for a moment and then a screen popped up in front of them with an article.

Front page of Atlas News dated three weeks prior, the bold title read: JUNKER TERRORISTS CAPTURED. Byline: After a pursuit in Geneva, Switzerland, Australian terrorists known as Junkrat and Roadhog have been apprehended by local authorities, ending their four year international reign of murders, bombings, robberies and mayhem.

Sombra was about to withdraw her hand when Junkrat wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and yanked her forward to keep her from taking it away.

"Cálmate, Rat. Just hang on." She peeled his fingers off and typed into the air a couple more times, detaching the screen from her fingers entirely and placing it in his hand.

A video with a warning was the first thing after the headline, reading "Warning: Graphic Content". He pressed his finger against it without thinking.

A dark-haired news anchor spoke directly out of the screen. “At 3:25am last night, Genevan authorities captured Australian terrorists, Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, better known by their pseudonyms, Junkrat and Roadhog. The pair is wanted in over a dozen countries for theft, armed robbery, extortion, kidnapping, murder and a litany of additional charges. Authorities were alerted after the pair botched a bank heist and were forced to flee the scene on their motorcycle. Three police officers were injured in the pursuit. Approaching a barricade set up by law enforcement on Route de Chancy, Rutledge lost control of the vehicle, crashing it through a florist shop. What we have is an unprecedented video of the scene as it unfolded.

“This video contains graphic content,” the anchor warned. “Viewer discretion is advised.”

Roadhog stood outside a blasted out shop window with Junkrat lying limply in his hands. He could tell his leg and arm were both broken. There were at least ten police officers visible in the shot, guns fixed at the pair. The amount of blood covering them was staggering. As Hog trudged forward, keeping his mask pointed down at Rat, he shifted in a way that revealed the enormous gash across Rat's stomach. Junkrat winced looking at the video, unconsciously bringing his stump to his stomach, feeling the barely healed gash.

Then the unthinkable happened. Roadhog began dropping his weapons. One at a time, they clinked and clanked to the pavement. Junkrat pressed the screen, stopping the video. He shook uncontrollably, his lone hand reaching up, pulling at a tuft of his hair. Sombra took the screen back from him, but this time she enlarged it and turned it back around, hanging it in the air in front of him.

"This vid will explain what Roadhog did and why a hundred times better than I can." Her normal catlike smirk was nowhere to be seen as she focused on the rocking Junker. "I'll play it when you're ready."

Rat took a moment, wiping his nose with the back of his stump. He bristled at the pain in his shoulder and then nodded to her.

Roadhog's weapons lay in a pile tossed away on the pavement. He slowly dropped to his knees, Rat held against him like a child's doll in his arms. Hog shifted him carefully, slowly laying him out on the ground in front of him. His big, gentle fingers brushed across Junkrat’s face before he backed away and lowered himself onto his stomach.

“No, Hog, no no no.” Rat gripped the side of the screen. Police officers shuffled around him and handcuffed him. Powerful, unstoppable, one-man apocalypse handcuffed by a couple of scrawny Swiss cops. It disgusted him.

Officers led Hog away, EMTs ran in to treat Junkrat. The whole time, Roadhog never looked away from him, tripping over debris, getting a jab from an officer. He didn’t look away until the heavy doors to the armored truck slammed shut.

“As you can see in this video taken on the scene, it appeared Rutledge willingly turned himself in and gave his partner over for medical treatment." The news anchor continued as the video ended. "The surprisingly peaceful resolution was facilitated by a veteran hostage negotiator, Marie Deroy. She spoke with our reporters at the scene.”

“It was unbelieveable,” the blond woman spoke into the microphone. Flashing blue and red lights remained behind her reflecting off the shattered glass littering the street. “I’ve studied these two for years, never imagined I would be the one to help police bring them in.”

“What was different about this time from all the other times authorities have attempted to corner the pair?”

“Without sounding morbid, it was because Fawkes was critically injured.” Deroy looked back at the florist window. “All the other times, no one has been able to separate them or force them to make the choice between an injured partner and escape. One of two options was possible: Rutledge would either try to brute force his way out and escape, or he would turn himself in with the promise of medical care for Fawkes. He chose the path that gave the highest probability for survival for his partner.”

“Is that something you anticipated?”

“We had hoped so. That was the gamble we took. If you examine their patterns of behavior over the years, they have always prioritized partnership and survival over all else.”

“And where are Fawkes and Rutledge being transported?” The reporter asked.

“Of course, we can't give specifics. Fawkes is being transported to an emergency medical facility where he will be treated to the best of our abilities. He has sustained severe, life-threatening injuries in the crash. Rutledge is being treated for his lesser injuries and then he will be held at a maximum security facility. We can't go into any further details at this time.”

“I just want to be clear,” Deroy continued. “I think Rutledge had made up his mind about what he wanted to do before I even attempted to reach out to him. He had made the choice, I just gave him the instructions on how to carry that out. All in all, we are very pleased with the outcome here.”

“Thank you so much for your time and your amazing work tonight.”

Back to the face of the Atlas new anchor. “While the exact fates of Rutledge and Fawkes remain unknown at the moment, the world can sleep easy tonight knowing they have finally been locked up.”

Junkrat spat on the floor, but kept scrolling down the page. For whatever reason, he was compelled to stop at the comment section.

 _"Four years, countless deaths, hundreds of millions of dollars in damage, millions of dollars in property loss, millions of people gripped in fear later, police have finally captured two of the most recognizable freaks on the planet. Job well done to the Geneva police but I can't celebrate thinking about how the law enforcement communities of the world have collectively failed us by letting these two terrorists roam free for so long."_ 5,042 likes

 _"are we sure junkrat is still alive? he looks preeeetty dead in that video i'm just sayin"_ 985 likes

 _"Because my comment keeps getting taken down by the censoring fascists at Atlas News, let me put it in the most PC way possible- I hope Junkrat has complications during his surgery and never wakes up and that Roadhog finds out what prison is really like."_ 546 likes

 _"Get you someone who looks at you like Roadhog looks at Junkrat's corpse."_ 2,123 likes

Sickness started to overwhelm him and he pushed the light screen back at Sombra. She pressed a digit to it in the air, dismissing it. Sensing a sudden change in his visage, she scooped up the trash can from beside his bed and held it up. Junkrat hadn’t eaten anything in weeks but he still vomited up bile into the can. Sombra rubbed circles on his back, trying to resist the temptation to withdraw her hand from the sweatiness.

“Thanks, mate.”

Sombra dropped back in her seat, deep in thought for a moment before she snapped her attention back to him.

“Roadhog used his opportunity to contact a lawyer to reach out to me. You remember the encoded contact information I sent you two after the Dorado heist?” Rat nodded slowly, sliding the trash can back to the floor. “Your Hog’s a smart fellow. He cracked into it, or had someone help him, and he placed the call that set the pieces in motion. ‘Course I knew you two were in deep shit about thirty seconds after it happened, but I wasn’t about to break you out unless you asked.”

“Hog asked ya to bail me out…”

“Both of you,” Sombra said with a mouth full of string cheese she also swiped from his lunch tray. “The deal was Talon breaks both of you free, ensures your survival and then the two of you will work for us.”

“Work for Talon? Why the hell does Talon want me an’ Hoggy?”

“We’ve considered reaching out to you two before, get you on the roster in a fulltime capacity. The two of you are blunt instruments; brash, unpredictable, powerful instruments.” She chomped down on the top of the string cheese in a way no one should ever eat string cheese. Rat knew that and he didn’t even grow up with the stuff. “Right now, a lot of our field agents are the careful surgeon’s precision types, myself included. I’ve been saying we need people like you to just go in, fuck shit up, sow chaos. Others have disagreed. Others are often wrong.” She cast a scathing glare back at the darkened window into the room.

“I don’t understand why he would do this,” Junkrat snarled, scratching at the scar across his belly. “Work for Talon? We never even discussed this. We had a plan, Sombra, and he didn’t do it. I told him to put me outta my misery. Why didn’t he listen to me?”

“Rat,” she slid over to the end of his bed. “I think you know why. It’s also his job to protect you. Letting you die, or worse, being the one to kill you, goes against all his instincts.”

“Ya saw me on that vid?” So much blood, so broken, his bloody organs were coming out. “I was one peg leg in the grave!”

"You were asking a lot of him. You need to think about that, really think about what you were asking to do. Ask if you could have done that to him. But remember you’re not dying anymore, amigo. You’ve come a long way in your recovery and you’ve only just woken up.” For a moment, she looked like she was considering pulling up photos to prove it but decided against it.

“So…” Rat wasn’t sure he even wanted to ask the question. “Where is he?”

“Prison.” Junkrat winced. Of course, he was still in prison. He would be sitting here right now getting an earful from Rat if he weren’t. Sombra pulled up a screen with a prison layout on it. The facility was a fortress, all the cells were internal, from the look of it, making a quick in and out difficult. Rat touched his finger to a cell outlined in red.

“Is that where they're keepin' him?”

“Yep. Cell 233b, 23 hours a day, 1 hour of rec time.”

Junkrat dropped his finger from the box that held Roadhog and pushed the screens away.

“It’s much easier to bail a mortally wounded man out of a minimally secured hospital than it is to break a 500 lb behemoth out of a maximum security facility.” Sombra continued, now summoning up a floor plan for a hospital. “For you, I hacked into the hospital’s computer system, shut down power to a couple floors, the whole place was a mess. Got in and got you out. I don’t think any patients died in the process?” She knotted her eyebrows in thought for a moment, did a quick search with her other hand, then nodded assuredly. “Nope, no one died. Buen trabajo, Sombra."

"Not surprisingly, there hasn’t been a peep out of the Swiss about you vanishing under their care. They’re not admitting it to the public yet. Gonna make them look real bad when you suddenly show up on the scene to break out your pareja.”

Junkrat shrugged, sinking down in his bed. “Maybe I should jus’ leave ‘im there.”

“In prison? Rat, you don’t mean that.”

“He didn’t listen to what I wanted him to do, why should I listen to what he wants me to do?”

Sombra glanced at the window. If Rat hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed her tapping on something in her ear before she turned back to him.

“You need to think big picture. I know you’re a big picture thinking type of guy, right? You are so focused on the last way he wronged you and though-” she held up a long fingernail to stop him from interrupting. “It was the biggest violation of your trust in him, you need to think back on all the time you’ve spent with him. How he’s protected you. Like the lady on the vid said, everything you have done so far has been to prioritize your partnership.”

Their partnership. Ha. Whatever was left of it.

“It’ll be months before I can even walk again.” Junkrat motioned down to his useless legs. “Months of pain, misery just to extend my life by another what- five years? I don’t have that much left in me, what with the radiation. This is why I jus’ wanted it to be done with. Roadhog knew that.”

“I don’t know if this helps, but the doctors here, what they lack in basic human decency, they make up for in excelling in their field. There are treatments for your radiation that can extend your life. Dr. Schiller has been administering a low dosage of one of those medications to you since you’ve arrived and she has seen improvements in your rad levels already.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.” Rat shuttered, violated. Doctors poking and prodding and experimenting on him. _You are a rat afterall_ , an intrusive voice echoed in his head. _That’s what people do to rats._

“I know this is a lot, but let me pitch Talon to you. I know it feels like you’re a prisoner being forced to work for us, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Roadhog saw value in a partnership, otherwise he wouldn’t have called me up.”

“Or he was desperate to keep me alive an’ ignore my dyin’ requests. He woulda called up the King of the Fuckin’ Omnics if it meant Rat gets to eek out another miserable day.” Selfish. 

“If it makes you feel better, we’re not King of the Fuckin’ Omnics,” she said the last part in a borderline offensive Australian accent but it got a chuckle out of Rat.

“Are you going to listen now and not interrupt?” She asked, scooting up to sit beside him on the bed. For a moment, she rested her fist in front of her mouth and nose as if she was putting all her effort into concentrating. “Sorry, Rat, you just smell like a dumpster had threesome with a men’s locker room and morgue.”

“I can’t help it! I’ve been a prisoner here.” He lifted up his arms to try to air himself out, but that only added to the problem.

“No, no, arms down, I’ll get through it.” She waved her hand in front of her nose, then summoned up some images on her screens. “First of all, Talon is paying and providing for your total rehabilitation.” Her screens showed an x-ray with all the broken bones in Rat’s body, a prototype of a prosthetic arm and leg, and a read out chart of his rad levels. “We want to make you even stronger and healthier than you were before your accident.”

Junkrat opened his mouth, then closed it as the screens whizzed by.

“We have state-of-the-art combat training facilities. Sniping ranges, secure labs for you to build your bombs, a gym for your weight-lifting bodyguard, bots for training.” More screens flickered in front of their faces.

“A pool?” Junkrat touched the screen. “Roadie loves to swim. I’ll stay as far away as possible, can’t do much with half your limbs being made of metal.”

“The pool is amazing, Reaper’s tried to have it filled in like a hundred times. Wanted to put in something dumb like an aircraft parking lot. He’s jealous he can’t use it with his messed up body.” Sombra waved those images aside and glanced at Rat’s confused face. “Don’t worry about Reaper for now. I’ll tell you how to deal with him when you have to deal with him.”

“You remember Dorado, right, Junkrat?” Fifteen images of Junkrat and Roadhog spread out in front of them. Some were from security footage of their heist shoveling money into bags, lighting off explosives, sprinting from guards. One showed Rat earlier in the evening punching candy out of a pinata and Roadhog with his hand to his forehead. Another depicted the Junkers and Sombra doing a shot of tequilla at a Los Muertos party. Junkrat and Roadhog stood side-by-side on the deck of a sailboat in the final photo, fireworks in their hands, escaping out into the bay.

“Tha’ was a good heist.” Junkrat said, surprisingly wistful as he plucked a particular photo out of the bunch and brought it forward. 

The photo had been taken at a Los Muertos party Sombra brought them to. Rat had been a little tipsy and a little high. Like he was known to do, he’d tripped over absolutely nothing and busted up his metal arm when he tried to catch himself. In the photo, Hog was seated with Rat standing in front of him, his metal hand resting in his huge paw. Hog had just finished up screwing in a couple joints, the screwdriver like a toothpick in his fingers. Normally he would have grumpily fixed him up, chastising him for being careless but this time, Junkrat remembered looking straight at him and saying “thanks for always taking care of me, Roadie.” Their eyes met, a soft blush on Rat’s cheeks as his flesh hand pulled at a tuft of his hair. Junkrat could really could see the smile, the affection in Hog's eyes. The immediate aftermath not shown in the photo was Rat dancing away, taking two shots of tequila and running up to the roof with three of his new Los Muertos friends to show them how far he could throw molotov cocktails. Tender moments between them did happen, but they could be so fleeting that he was amazed Sombra captured it. He felt his throat choke with sentimentality that he wished he could throw away.

"That one's my favorite," Sombra smiled. "He probably wears that mask just to hide all those emotions."

“You know why that heist was so successful?” Sombra continued on when it was clear Junkrat wasn't going to vocally respond. "It was because you worked through me and through Talon. No cops to worry about, a nice and easy in and out. We do the hard part, we set everything up, make sure you two aren’t going to get yourselves killed or driven through the front of a flower shop. We fly you in, we fly you out. No more hiding out in motels or abandoned buildings for days and weeks at a time as you hope the police lose your trail, no more unnecessarily risking your lives. And the best part-”

The Dorado images vanished, including the one Rat had clutched in his hand. The faces of dozens of men appeared on her screens, leering out at him with their stiff lips and their pristine collars.

“These suits run the world, Junkrat.” She reached out and tapped on them one at a time. As she did, Red x’s crossed out their faces until a quarter of them were gone. “They've been taking advantage of everyone, holding onto everything for themselves. You can help us take them out.”

She let Junkrat scowl into their faces for another moment. Then with a twist of her wrist, all the screens vanished back into her cybernetics.

“I…” Rat didn’t know what to say. Overwhelmed, he was definitely overwhelmed. Sombra picked up on that.

“You need time to think and to rest, this has been a lot all at once.” She stood and brushed herself off, though no amount of brushing would get off Junker stank.

“Okay, yer probably roight.” Pain started to seize through his limbs in a much more nagging, persistent way than it had before.

Sombra stopped over by the door, typing onto one of her screens. “Give it time. Big picture, remember? Oh and Rat? Don’t go offing yourself in the middle of the night. Those doctors-” Sombra pointed at the darkened window. “Will be in here in a half a second and you don't want to deal with them anymore than you have to.”

Junkrat nodded, too exhausted to try to argue.

“Buenas noches, Rata. I will see you in the morning.”

 

The fresh air in the hallway was an immediate and welcome respite to Sombra’s nose. That boy stunk up a room like no one’s business. She poked her head into the adjoining room, the one where a few doctors and nurses were stationed to monitor his process.

“How ‘bout instead of just staring at him, someone goes in and washes him and changes his sheets? It’s rank in there and we’re trying to maintain some semblance of a sanitary infirmary here, aren’t we?” Two nurses jumped to their feet. She rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.

Sombra knew how difficult this was going to be when she agreed to take him in. Roadhog had warned her as much. Comforting people, teaching them how to find their inner strength, push through difficulties to overcome obstacles- that was shit for someone infinitely more patient and kind than she was. But she didn't need to be any of that. She just needed to play to her strengths. Junkrat was unpredictable, but exceedingly easy to read. Heartbroken, angry, stubborn, but still as in love as he had been on that warm Dorado evening. And from her experience, people in love were the easiest to manipulate.

The blue glow of her screens lit up her face as she leaned against the wall outside his room. The maximum security prison housing Mako Rutledge had security cameras installed in every cell. Violation of privacy, sure, but criminals wouldn’t have gotten themselves thrown in prison if they cared about their privacy, right? Finding his cell was easy. She smirked as she expanded the holovid.

Roadhog sat on the floor beside his bed wearing prison orange, his massive body taking up half the tiny room. His arms were linked around his legs and his scarred, maskless face pressed against his knees as the dim light cascaded into the cell. Roadhog- proud, strong, terrifying Roadhog, huddled in his cell all alone. She wouldn’t show this to Rat right away, no, that would be senselessly cruel. But if he remained unwilling to work with her, to fix himself, to help them get Hog back, then maybe showing him the one he loved in this pathetic state would give him the motivation he needed, to stop talking about being better off dead, to work for Talon for everyone's benefit.

After all, there's no getting treasure off a dead Rat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize from here on out for any bad Spanglish from Sombra. I’m trying my best.
> 
> Also I'd like to think that self-righteous internet commenters and memers will still exist in 50 years. Let me have this.
> 
> I wrote the next chapter at the same time because I wasn’t sure which one should go first, so I’ll see how much self-restraint I have in not posting it right away. Oh and rating has changed to Explicit for future chapters.
> 
> Thank you so much for your awesome supportive comments. They seriously make my day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat proves to be hell on earth for Talon's finest doctor.

“Get that monstrosity away from me!” Junkrat shrieked, cowering back in his bed.

It was too early for Junkrat to be dealing with affronts against nature and god. But here Dr. Schiller was, barely giving him five minutes of adjustment to the waking world to remember his good limbs were all destroyed, his Roadhog was gone and his future in disarray. His esteemed Talon doctor stood at the side of his bed, holding some poor fool's disembodied forearm and hand. 

“Mr. Fawkes, this is a state-of-the-art prosthetic. Our researchers have spent years working to perfect the tactile responses, the ease of cranial input, all with the goal of giving the user the appearance and feeling of a totally realistic human arm.”

His lips curled into snarl as he shrank away. The thing was fleshy, slightly paler than his own skin. Now that he had a moment to look at it, he could see the end where the wires and nodes attached to its victims limb. So not a human arm, but it was almost worst. It was like if an omnic decided to skin a human and masquerade around in it. It was disturbing. Junkrat took a swing with his stump, upsetting it out of Dr. Schiller’s outstretched hands. It landed on the floor with a dull squishy thud.

“I want _my_ arm back.” He hissed.

“Mr. Fawkes,” she lifted the arm carefully from the ground, brushing it off and cradling it like it was a small kitten and not something from Dr. Frankenstein’s jerk-off lab. “We’ve told you a dozen times, your metal prosthetic was left at the scene of your accident and in all likelihood it's in some evidence storage locker by now.”

Just another way Roadhog failed him, add it to the list. Couldn’t even pick up his arm. His beautiful, perfect metal arm. Roadie was probably still harboring a grudge towards it, all those times it had pinched and pulled his skin, ripped out his hair. Plus that time Rat tried to finger him with it. That big, gleaming backside facing him all exposed and Rat went ahead and shoved two unlubed, metal digits in there. Junkrat couldn’t suppress a giggle remembering how furious he was. The giggle broke into an all-out cackle. Probably hadn’t been the smartest move- he loved riding the Hog and the Hog was closed for business for several months after that. Still hilarious. Alarmed by his sudden change in his demeanor, Dr. Schiller took a step back.

“All right then.” She jotted some notes on her tablet. “You won’t have an arm to use at all. We thought you might appreciate having it since your good arm is broken, but I suppose not.”

Junkrat was fairly certain he saw her draw a big frowny face on her screen. She made uneasy eye contact with him as she lowered the arm onto the side table, like she was putting down bait for a croc. “I’m leaving it here for now, but I’m not making you wear it. Is that going to be all right?”

“If ya think leavin’ it there will tempt me into usin’ it, you are sorely mistaken.” Junkrat turned away, becoming suddenly interested in TV guide left beside his bed.

“That’s certainly fair. But if anyone else comes through here missing an arm and would like it, they can have it. Just make sure you tell them to tighten the strap first, then hold the prosthetic in place until the nerves connect. Should take about fifteen seconds. You’ll- they’ll feel a slight prickly sensation as they do. Tell them to take it easy at first, finger movement exercises are best.”

He raised his eyebrows, still perusing down the list of 500 different news channels. “Not sure why yer tellin’ me this, but if some other half-armed freak makes his way in here, I’ll let him know.”

Dr. Schiller pushed through her checklist, attempting to extricate herself from the room with the nightmare Junker as soon as possible. A week had passed since Junkrat permanently regained consciousness and he made it his goal to be the most difficult patient any of these doctors had ever experienced. He refused to eat, hid his meal contents in his bed, stuffed jello down his casts, picked open his stitches, refused to use a bedpan, and then when he finally would, he scattered the contents across the room, cackling when nurses immediately ran in to clean up after him. For hours, Junkrat would glare at the window where his captive team of medical professionals would wait in dread for the next bout of misery he had in store for them. Sombra was a guardian angel to them and as much trouble as she sometimes caused them, they were grateful to see her walk through the door. She seemed to have a calming presence on Junkrat, could get him to sit still for various examinations and make him eat every once in awhile.

Junkrat’s legs and arm remained in casts and his stomach wrapped in thickly bound bandages after he attempted to rip out the stitching. Sharp pains in his body were dulled down to a constant ache. Itching was an extreme problem for him. When the nurses had to crack open his leg cast to free it from the jello, they found two pencils, three pens, a scalpel, an orange peel, a full set of cutlery and currency from three different countries. The origins of most of those objects could not be accounted for and Rat refused to tell. For itches on his left arm, there was no relief for him at all. He screamed at nurses to come in and attend to it, but they didn’t come quickly after the fifteenth time a day that he hollered for them.

Junkrat was a prisoner in his own body. He truly thought he might be happier locked in a tiny cell if he retained use of all his limbs. It was torture being unable to move, unable to care for himself, unable to carry out the acts of destruction, mayhem and impulse that gave him purpose. Those nights when he would lay on Roadie’s belly, yammering on in such a flippant fashion about his death (“if I look like I’m gonna kick it, Roadie, just attached 500 fireworks to me, light ‘em all at once and watch the show.” “if I’m lyin’ on the ground, missing my other arm and other leg, jus’ use me as a human frisbee, hurl me right at the cops. It’ll distract ‘em long enough for you to get away”), he never imagined his fate would be worse than his darkest nightmares. His worst case scenario was a few panicked moments of consciousness while being wheeled into an operating room, terrified visions of scalpels, masked doctors, dying without seeing a familiar face. Not like this- alive, immobile, without Roadhog, pathetic, helpless.

Deep down somewhere he knew Roadhog had given him a second lease on life. One he should be grateful for, even if he didn’t ask for it, even if he explicitly asked for the opposite. But the damn pig wasn’t even here to suffer through his suffering. Something about that didn’t seem right. He didn’t care if Hog was off suffering somewhere else. It only mattered that he wasn’t here.

“One small matter, Mr. Fawkes.” Dr. Schiller produced an x-ray on her screen and spun it to face him. Junkrat narrowed his eyes for a moment before realizing what he was looking at- hip bones and leg bones.

“Tha’s my ass,” he grinned

“We did our best to remove all of the debris in your body upon your intake to our facilities. But there was one anomaly we located below your right gluteal fold.” She circled a small, squarish shape embedded in his skin.

“In my thutt?”

She blinked a few times. “Your what?”

“My thutt.” Junkrat grinned and rolled onto his side the best he could. He winced as every healing bone and bruise screamed at him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t teach his good doctor something new today. He pointed his stump the best he could at a spot just below his completely bare ass. “The area between your thigh and your butt. Called the thutt.”

“I must have slept through the day we learned about the thutt in medical school.” Did Rat see a hint of a smile on her stern, no jokes, no fun face? It couldn’t be. She was a strict Talon-approved, no sense of humor doctor and would never laugh at his jokes.

“You’re welcome,” Rat winked at her and eased himself back, biting his lip to fight back the pain.

“As I was saying, we located a piece of metal in your…” Her tired eyes met his and she sighed. “Your thutt. It appears to be fully healed over and has been lodged there for several years now.”

“That ol’ thing,” Rat waved a dismissive stump at her. “Been there forever. Like my good luck charm at this point. I think it’s a bullet or somethin’. Who knows. Been shot too many times to remember.”

“Do you ever experience any discomfort from it? After sitting long periods of time?” Her light beam pen flicked across her screen.

Junkrat fidgeted, suddenly becoming acutely aware of the chunk of metal just below his butt. He remembered the first time Roadie ever noticed that little bump beneath his skin. Junkrat had been waltzing about their motel hideout completely naked. It was blistering hot and the AC barely worked. As he strode past the bed, Roadie’s huge, sweaty palm closed around his thigh. He yelped as Roadhog tugged him over. “What the hell is that?” Roadhog pressed his thumb into the curve of his asscheek, then circled around the bump beneath his skin. He could feel Roadie’s warm breath on his ass and thighs and it sent tingles up his spine. “That’s my detector to alert me when someone’s been checkin’ out my ass.” Junkrat wiggled it. “It’s goin’ off right now.” Roadhog grumbled at him and let him bound away, continuing to be an exhibitionist. Roadhog didn’t bring it up again for several years.

“I don’t sit much.” He didn’t make eye contact with the doctor, but reached out to take the x-ray in front of him. He pulled it forward to examine the object. Small, black, squarish blob on the screen- that was about it.

“You’re sitting on it now and you have been for the past month. Has it been irritated at all?”

“Honestly, Dr. Sheila, so much of me hurts all the goddamn time, I haven’t noticed.” He pushed the screen back to her. “But if I notice any ass pain at all, you’ll be the first one I’ll call.” He picked up a banana from his untouched breakfast tray and pressed on the peel like there were buttons. “I’ll enter ya as a contact under “Butt Doctor”.”

“If you ever called me for a medical concern, I would be pleased and shocked.” Her back turned to him as she prepared a tray. He knew what it was- his radiation treatment. Doctors and nurses plunging needles into him several times a day, making him sit with IV’s in his veins, muttering about how calm and good he was being, even when he was being the opposite of good and calm. It was like they thought if they said it enough, it would magically happen.

“Why the fuck would ya give experimental rad drugs with side effects to a half-dead Rat?” Junkrat asked as Dr. Schiller moved to administer a shot in his arm.

“We deemed your radiation levels to be high enough to merit immediate medical attention in order for you to fully recover.” Junkrat recognized the tone of voice she used. It was like the one Roadhog used when he was trying to be patient, but was retelling Rat something for the dozenth time. She carefully sterilized his forearm. “Try not to squirm please.”

He obeyed for once, biting down on his lip and humming a melody-free tune. It made him nauseous at times, more so than usual, but he was willing to suffer through this. The idea that it might actually extend his life gave him some small amount of hope, hope that he wasn’t dragging his body through this hell only for him to kick it in another year. It might just be worth it.

“Very good.” She meant it, checking out the readouts on his charts. “Your body is reacting quite well, considering everything you’ve gone through. Your appetite might return soon.”

“Return?” Junkrat scoffed at her, patting on his concave belly. “I ain’t never had one. Always felt jus’ a little bit nauseous. Is dangerous to need a lotta food in Oz.”

“You should get ready for that to change. Sombra feeding you a piece of cheese a day won’t cut it.” Dr. Schiller folded her arms around her tablet and stared down at him. “If it was even possible on your already malnourished body, you lost weight while in a coma. It will be physically impossible for you to gain use of your limbs again if you do not put on weight. This is not about if you want to join Talon or rescue your partner. It’s a question of if you want to get out of this bed. Do you want to get out of this bed and never have to hear my voice again, Mr. Fawkes?”

He nodded, silent. “Good. We want you out of here on your own feet… foot as soon as possible. The more you fight us, the longer it will take.”

“He giving you any trouble, Doctora?”

Junkrat jumped when Sombra materialized beside his bed. Fuck, that always spooked him. She probably loved to see his dumb face screwed up in terror for a split second before he realized who it was. She’d be damn lucky if he didn’t accidentally claw her eyes out when he got his arm back. No right spooking someone who lived his whole life ready to defend himself tooth and claw.

His doctor appeared equally unamused, brushing a sole out of line hair strand back into its place.

“Sombra, I must have asked you a dozen times not to use your termoptic camo in my facilities.”

“Lo siento, doc, I think Rat’s swiss cheese brain is rubbing off on me.” She reached over and affectionately scratched Rat’s wild hair with her fingernails. It sent a wave of discomfort up through his body and he twitched away from her. “Has he been good?”

“Your friend is not a fan of this cutting edge piece of equipment provided to him by Talon.” Her fingers tapped on the fake fleshy arm.

“Rat.” Sombra folded her arms and gave him her most disappointed look.

Junkrat turned his nose up and his face away, not meeting her disapproval.

“Other than that, he’s actually been relatively good today.” She flipped past her screens. “Couple more weeks and we can get those casts off and start PT.” Dr. Schiller scowled over at him. “If he’ll let us.”

“I’ll make sure he does.”

“Yer not my mum.” He flipped his glare from Sombra to Dr. Schiller. “Stop talkin’ to her like she’s my mum and I’m her brat who fell outta a tree. I don’t have a mum.” He added quietly.

Sombra slipped an arm around the doctor, her pinky finger dismissing the screens Dr. Schiller was typing on. “As you can tell, he’s quite irritable. Is there anyway I can convince you to let me take the Rat for a walk? He could use some air that doesn’t smell like this stale stink palace. Probably would give you a nice break from being around him.”

Dr. Schiller detached Sombra’s arm from her shoulders, shaking her head. “I’m afraid not. He’s not in a state to be moving. I’m sure you’re planning on wheeling him, but even so, he moves too much. He’ll hurt himself.”

“Dr. Schiller, look at him. He’s patético.” She outstretched both her hands at Junkrat who took the cue to shrink down into the bed to make himself look small. He picked up a spork from his tray and let his casted arm drop down from the weight. “I’m too… weak.”

Sombra pushed on from his poor attempts at acting. “He’ll be much easier to deal with if he has some fresh air and mental stimulation.”

“I’m quite certain,” Dr. Schiller continued, riffling through her drawers as if she was only half listening. “In perhaps another week with good behavior, taking all his medications and minimal unnecessary wiggling, he’ll be able to.”

“Plleeeaaasseee, Doctor!” Junkrat begged, high and grating enough to make her reflexively put her hands to her ears. “Ya said yerself I’m not a prisoner here.”

“You’re not but over the past week you have actively tried to thwart your healing process over and over again. As soon as you prove you’re not a danger to yourself I can extend those privileges.” Irritation prickled through her voice.

This was personal, Junkrat could tell. He made her life miserable, she was going to make his life one hundred times worse. He hated being powerless against her. Standing off to the side, Sombra crossed her arms and didn’t argue, but the corners of her lips told a different story about her intentions.

“Is that all then, Doctor? Gonna leave me to rot now?” Junkrat ask, exasperated, like he had better things to do with his time than let the woman who saved his life do her job.

“That’s all for now.” She pointed to the window to the side room. “I’ll be going over your progress with your nurses and we’ll have a more detailed schedule for your treatment shortly, with a timeline of when you may be able to start physical therapy, with your good behavior and cooperation. If you need anything, put your loud mouth to use.”

“I always do!” Junkrat saluted her. She turned and disappeared back into the attached room.

Mischievous grin plastered across her face, Sombra followed quickly on her footsteps and up to the door. She planted her hand on the center, tendrils of tech bursting forth, wrapping up around the seams of the door and looping into the handle. The door hitched, a soft, purple glow emanating from it from the edges. From the other side, they could hear muffled pounding and yelling.

“Room’s on lockdown. I bought us at least 30 minutes,” Sombra ran back over to him, crashing a wheelchair into his bed. “Let’s fucking go. I have some people I want you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dr. Schiller. Talon doesn't pay her enough.
> 
> This chapter became way too long, so I split it up into two. Hopefully I'll finish editing the second part and can post it in a couple days. I'm not lying this time (last time I ended up scrapping the chapter I had prepared).
> 
> Hope you're enjoying so far! I super duper appreciate your comments and feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra introduces Rat to a new friend.

The process of getting Rat into the wheelchair was a little more difficult and painful than either of them expected. Junkrat was useless in almost every way, but he let her maneuver his limp body out of the bed with minimal vocalization of how much discomfort he was in. Several amorphous shadows stood in front of the window, watching in horror as Sombra hoisted the naked, broken-limbed Junker out of his recovery bed and into the wheelchair, tossing a blanket over his lap.

Sombra sprinted out the door, wheeling him at a speed much too fast for a man who had no arms to hold on. She clapped a hand over his chest to keep him from careening out of the chair at every turn. Junkrat breathed in the whooshing air as it crossed his face and whipped through his sweat-slicked hair. It was unbelievable to move again, to not be bound to that miserable bed with those miserable people hovering around him. For just a moment, he was back in his sidecar, zooming along the open road. He goaded her on, yelling for her to go faster, slam into as many Talon employees as they could catch.

The sterile hallways outside his room reminded Junkrat of the fancy first-world hospitals he had made it his professional goal to avoid. Not that he had ever been in one before, but he did consider himself to be somewhat of an expert with all the daytime soaps he and Hog had binged on while holed up in motels avoiding capture. The ones where the sexy nurses would sometimes get brain damage and throw themselves at shiny Omnic doctors. He chucked the remote through the TV whenever that happened. This hospital was a bit less busy and considerably less sexy, but still active. There were other patients in this hospital apparently, which was a bit of a shock to Junkrat. With the amount of attention he had received, he figured he was one of the only ones. Even more alarming was the fact that most of them were unconscious, lying on gurneys, hooked up to IVs and tubes, pushed by dead-eyed nurses from room to room.

“Who are these blokes?” Rat shouted back to Sombra as people scrambled out of their way.

“Ah, si.” Sombra paused as if she was not expecting to have to answer this question. “Other patients.”

“Ya know that don’t answer my question.” Rat glanced back at her to see her chewing on her bottom lip.

“Let’s just say they’re long term patients. A different sort than you.”

“I might be a more free-spirited type of person who doesn’t need ta ask a lotta questions, but I hope you’re not intendin’ on keepin’ all of Talon’s secrets from me forever.”

Sombra slowed her run to a trot and pulled the wheelchair into an alcove, letting two Talon doctors stride past, only giving them a brief side-eye.

“We both have to trust each other, you and Talon.” Her voice was quieter than usual. “Once that trust is mutually earned, we can talk specifics.”

“If tha’s the best I’m gettin’ from ya now, I suppose I’ll take it.” Rat did not respond well to sensory overload. Everything he had learned over the past week, what he came to learn as the new normal, had stretched the boundaries of his precarious sanity. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for keeping it together as well as he had. If Talon had been his only focus, the only thing on his mind, he might have stuck with it, prying her for more answers. But the nagging worry about his recovery and Roadhog beat those questions back in his mind.

Being inside buildings had always instilled a dull rumble of panic in Junkrat. When you’re an explosives expert, the outside world is only a few blasts away from you at all times. When you’re an explosives expert without any of your explosives, it was easy to feel the walls closing in, like you’re being buried alive. The facilities were austere and dark, the walls narrowing as they left the hospital ward. Doors and doors and halls and halls stretched on without end, Talon employees popping in and out, diving out of their way, radio superiors about the lunatics on the loose. An enormous window appeared, stretching down both sides of the hall. Mountains loomed in the distance (Alps still perhaps? Rat didn’t know), thick forests and little signs of humanity save for this base. A few planes taxied outside on a pavement runway, men and women in uniforms moving equipment into trucks, a few people in garb marking them as superiors barking orders. A few explosive barrels being rolled piqued Rat’s attention before the windows were gone and they were back into the unfeeling grey hallways.

“I have someone I want you to meet.” Sombra said, skidding him to a stop outside a room lined with glass windows, but not looking to the outside world. A sniping range. Omnic targets scurried around the back wall, some moving in a set mechanical pattern, some darting about in panic as muffled shots rang out felling their companions. A lone assassin unloaded into them with a massive sniper rifle, the omnic heads bounced to the floor, bodies tossed back as each shot landed.

Junkrat let out a yelp at the shots and instinctively ducked his head before he realized he wasn’t under attack. “Sorry, mate,” he said to Sombra as she raised an eyebrow at him. “Force-a habit.”

The sniper was dressed in a head-to-toe tight, black leather uniform, her arm band emblazoned with the Talon T. Gorgeous, imposing and terrifying. With her long, dark hair and inhuman blue skin tone, Junkrat instantly recognized her, his initial fear replacing with excitement.

“Oh oh oh!” He bounced in his seat the best he could, gesturing and making noises that would not be foreign out of the mouth of some tropical bird. “I know her! I’ve seen her before. Wha’s her name- no don’t tell me.”

The flailing figure out of the corner of Widow’s periphery caught her attention and she turned around, rifle pointed to the floor to see Sombra wheeling a mostly naked man, throwing himself around. Sombra’s smirk grew as she saw the casual disgust in Widow’s eyes. She gestured for her to come out of the sniping range. Widow shook her head “no”, gaze fixed on the man shuttering and babbling on. “Come on,” Sombra mouthed back to her, smirk overturning into an exaggerated pout. Widow sighed, her shoulders dropping, and exited the sniping range, leaving her rifle by the door.

“Window!” Junkrat shouted at her as soon as she was in hearing range. “Tha’s it, right? Like sniping, ya shoot outta windows and shit? I think tha’s it. I’ve seen ya on TV. Took some bag o’ bolts out going around harpin’ about world peace or somethin’. Big fan, big fan!”

“Junkrat, this is Amélie.” Sombra said, exquisitely pleased that she was witnessing this first time meeting of the minds. “Widowmaker is the name you’re looking for.”

“Widow,” Rat tried to hit himself in the head with his stump. “I remember now. Ya work with Talon?”

“I do.” Widow seated herself on a railing beside them, toes pointed down, hands resting in her lap, observing him with equal parts uncertainty and disdain. “Along with Sombra, I’ve been assigned to help you release your ‘og, once you’re-” she looked him up and down, struggling to find the right word to describe his pathetic situation. “Recovered.”

His excitement fizzled at the mention of his partner and Rat sank back into his wheelchair with a scowl.

“I guess no one’s told you that I’m not rescuin’ him? He can rot for all I care.” Everyone always bringing up Roadhog. Hoggy, Hoggy, Hoggy. Why couldn’t they just be happy to see him?

“Ah,” Widow mused, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulder. “I was not informed of a change of plans. Our intel told us that you two would be… codependent.”

“Codependent?” Rat couldn’t believe it. Codependent made them sound so… domestic. He didn’t like it. “Who the fuck told you that?”

Widow’s eyes flicked up to Sombra and back at his. The decision to throw her friend under the bus was not a difficult one. “Sombra.” A flash of a smile crossed her lips. “Who else has had firsthand experience with you?”

“Codependent?” Junkrat’s voice pitched into an angry squeak as he lurched in his seat to glare back at Sombra, the thin blanket slipping down off his lap. Widow stuck her toe out to catch it and deposited it back across his junk, averting her gaze as obviously as possible. “Sorry, mate,” he added with a nervous giggle.

“Don’t kid yourself, Rat.” Sombra rolled her eyes. “You know how much you two need each other. Don’t make me pull out any more videos.”

“Givin’ rude intel on me to terrorist organizations,” Rat muttered, crossing his arms on his chest as best he could.

“If you are not planning to accompany us to free this ‘og, then perhaps Sombra and I can take care of it on our own?” Widow’s voice betrayed a small amount of hopefulness, which Junkrat wasted no time stomping on.

“No! No one rescues Hoggy without me.” Sure, it sounded irrational when he said it like that, but the thought of those two sweeping in to rescue Hog without him, with their slicked back hair, their acceptable hygiene and their modern day technology made an ugly jealousy bubble within him. He could see Widowmaker kicking in Hog’s cell door, Hog leaping into her arms and Widow grappling hooking off into the sunset with him.

“Ah, so we’ve been ordered to rescue him, yet we can’t rescue him with you and we can’t rescue him without you…” Widow trailed off, picking at her nails.

“We don’t need to go into the specifics of our plans yet, amigos.” Sombra cut in before Junkrat could continue to argue. “Rat has only been awake for a week. He has a lot of adjusting still to do.”

“Oui, I can see that.”

Junkrat was used to being looked at like trash. It was right there in his name. But something about the way Widow appraised him made feel like a bug on the bottom of a piece of shit stuck to a ragged, old shoe. Her yellow eyes focused in disgust. She would have stared at him like this even if he was fully dressed in a suit and tie, holding a bouquet of roses for her. It unnerved him in a way that triggered his instinct to hide behind Roadhog, an instinct he could no longer indulge.

“Anything else you have to say to Junkrat before we leave, Amélie?” Sombra said through gritted teeth. She punctuated the words like she was trying to remind Widow of something they had agreed upon.

“Euh,” Widow bit her lip, looking up from her fingernails that were infinitely more fascinating, searching Sombra’s face of some indication for what she wanted her to say. “Bien sûr.” She focused back on Junkrat. “Sombra has informed me of the… competent work you performed for Talon in Dorado.” Behind the wheelchair, Sombra’s eyebrows raised as she nodded her on. “And we are looking forward to having you as part of the team.”

“Really?” Rat’s eyes watered up at her and a smile tugged at his lips. “Tha’ means a lot to me.”

She nodded once, pulling away from his needy puppy dog eyes to glare at Sombra.

“Gracias for seeing us, Widow.” She wheeled Rat backwards. “We’ll be back next week for the start of Rat’s sniping lessons!”

“Au revoi- wait, his what?”

“Ta ta, mademoiselle!” His head lolled over the back of the chair to grin at her as a cackling Sombra rolled him away. “So lovely ta meet someone as blue as you!”

Widowmaker sighed and stepped down from her perch, questioning everything about her employers.

 

They turned a dizzying number of corners, disorienting Junkrat for the hundredth time that day. He wouldn't have been surprised if they ended up back at the sniping range. The wheelchair ground to a halt outside an unassuming door.

“I have something else I wanted to show you.” Sombra pressed two fingers to the door handle and it sprung in. “It’s not finished yet and I know it’s not perfect, but I thought it would be something to make you feel more at home here.”

Junkrat gaped with amazement into the room. It was unlike anything else in this overly clean, unfeeling building. A large room filled with trash, junk and scrap opened up before him. Busted up carrier planes, old cars, tires, industrial equipment, appliances, buckets of bolts, screws, duct tape. On a workbench, dozens of grenade casings lay with a catalog of spray paints to choose from, several large pads of paper, a board to hang designs. Discarded omnic bodies and training bots were stacked against the back wall, their limbs splayed out, broken. A couple people must have thought this was a new trash room all together and dumped black plastic bags full of garbage in the corner. Sombra picked them up and threw them into the hallway, but Junkrat had to admit they added to the ambiance of the room.

“Everyone has been bringing their usable scrap here from around the building since you were admitted. I had to fist-fight a dozen janitors to let me do this and don’t get me started on what I promised to Reaper.” She picked up a manilla packet that had been shoved under the door and pulled out a bouquet of hazard signs. “Guess HR wants me to label this door.” She plastered them on one-by-one. Hazard, Broken Glass, Biohazard, Flammable, Low Level Radiation. “I wanted to make you feel somewhat at home and give you a place to build. You’re going to want to rebuild your grenade launcher, your tire and maybe a new arm and I know you weren’t keen on heading to our labs for that. Rooms for you and Hog are right next door.”

“Sombra, I…”

Maybe it was the drugs or the rapid changes in scenery, but sentimentality rushed through him at the sight of the place- filthy, smelling of dirt and motor oil. A strong longing for home warmed up inside him. Home. A place for him and Hog, left behind. They had one in Junkertown together, a real vision of domesticity. He could still remember how it felt to be there, surrounded by their things, their projects, wrapped in the combined scent the two of them left behind. He remembered the loft with the sloped couch where he and Hog would sit for hours, where in the early days, Junkrat would slowly and covertly slide down it until he was nestled up against Hog's side. His workshop next door where he would tinker away when Roadhog needed some silence. Their breakfast nook with the stool they stole from the Take Away stand. That big bed that Roadhog pushed against the wall so Rat could position himself between it and his bodyguard, the safest place on the planet, Rat liked to say.

But it wasn't the place itself that was home. If Junkrat up and left right now, returning to Junkertown (fuck what the Queen says), it wouldn't feel like home. No. Home was the person who watched over him as he climbed a towering pillar old cars and lent a hand when he determined that jumping down from his car perch would mean suicide. Home was the one who carried him to bed when he passed out on his couch beside his worktable, tossing a blanket over his shoulders and only grumbling a little. He was the one to press comforting fingers onto his arm and leg when phantom limb pain haunted him. The one whose filtered breathing lulled him right to sleep every night.

God, he missed him. He missed him in a way that made his whole body tense, his eyes shut, his head hang. In a way that gripped him with the need to blow up a couple cop cars and commit indiscriminate property damage. Roadhog grounded him in so many ways. Perhaps they were codependent like Sombra and Widow were so kind to say behind his back. Maybe he needed Roadhog to be normal, to function. Roadhog should be here. He should be here with him in this room full of garbage and trash that made him ache with sadness and rage. He shouldn’t be doing this alone. He needed Roadhog.

Sombra squeezed the handles of the wheelchair as she sensed Junkrat shift from wonder to a slow boiling fury in a matter of moments.

“You all right there?” She asked, hesitating.

“I’m sorry, mate…” he muttered, trying to control his shaking. “I know this wasn’t the kinda response ya hoped to get from me. I really do appreciate this but it jus’ reminds me too much of him right now.”

“Lo siento, Rat. I didn’t realize…” She backed him out of the room, knocking his chair into a few mysteriously damp cardboard boxes in her haste to leave.

“Nah, nah, don’t sweat ‘bout it.” Rat remembered breathing tricks that Roadhog (big fucking surprise) had taught him when he got overwhelmed like this. He counted his breaths going in and out, then turned his attention back to Sombra. “This is too kind. I know I’ll be happy to have it once I’m proper on my feet again.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m gonna take you back to your room. We'll have time for a real tour when you're better. That’s okay, no?”

“Sure, sure,” he said as she wheeled him away. Rat was too worn down to care about going back to that forsaken bed. He hoped that hadn’t been her plan all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not going to curse you all with an attempt at typing a French accent for Widow. 
> 
> Feedback and comments are always appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper and Sombra discuss their options. Junkrat finds some comfort.

Rat attempted to memorize the route back to his hospital room but quickly lost track of all the twists and turns in the monotony of the building. He never liked being lost, not if he could help it; it was a matter of survival most of the time, and no exception here. He needed to know how to make a quick escape, the weaknesses of the building, how to access the outside world. Couldn’t be helpless forever, needed to start planning. Next time he promised that he wouldn’t let himself get overwhelmed and confused.

Dr. Schiller and her nurses had freed themselves by the time Junkrat and Sombra returned to his room. The scowl on Dr. Schiller’s face told them that all of the goodwill built up by Sombra over the past few weeks was gone. With a couple nurses to help, it was much easier getting Junkrat back into bed. They checked him over, picking, prodding, rebandaging. He let them, eyes closed, no longer struggling or being difficult for the sake of being difficult. They didn’t ask any questions, and Dr. Schiller only scolded Sombra through her icy gaze. Once they completed their work, the door shut behind them, leaving them alone.

Junkrat rested his head against his pillow, sniffing the fresh linens. How kind of them to take this opportunity to change his bedding. Sombra leaned against the wall by the door, her fingers summoning a few screens, but her eyes focused on him.

“One more thing, Rat, and then I’ll let you rest.” She dismissed most of the screens and kept one in her cybernetic clutches.

At first, he couldn’t tell what he was looking at when she slid the screen in front of him. A video? No, it was security cam footage. A criminal mastermind such as himself was familiar with it. The picture on the screen showed a tiny room with a toilet, table and bed. A prison cell. The form lying on the bed was a slumbering outline he could recognize from anywhere. His heart hitched as he tugged it closer to his face.

“Roadie…”

“This is a live feed into his cell.” Sombra explained, fingernail tapping the upper corner to show the time. “Hacked into the security cam, they have them in all the cells in the prison. I want you to have this.” She tapped on the screen to turn it off and placed it on his side table.

“I don’t want it.” Junkrat couldn’t believe she would try to give this to him. Hog lying there all alone in a cage like a trapped animal. This was such an obvious ploy to manipulate him.

“You don’t have a choice.” Anger pierced through Sombra’s voice in a way Rat had never heard from her. She took a moment, focusing herself as she plopped on the end of his bed. “You didn’t send Roadhog to prison, claro. But by doing nothing you’re sentencing him to rot all because he cared enough to potentially throw his life away for yours. That’s not right.”

“I don’t know what ya want me ta say.” Rat wrapped his blanket up around himself like it could shield him from Sombra and all of her pushiness.

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” She plucked up the screen again and deposited it on his lap. “Say what you have to say to him.”

Rat poked at the screen, lighting it up. His heart lurched a little the moment Roadie appeared. He hated that it still did that. Reminded him of how he would feel peering out their safehouse window, waiting to see that lumbering frame appear around the corner. It came from his gut, that lurch when he remembered Roadhog was still alive, hadn’t died, hadn’t been captured, hadn’t left him like he swore he would so many times.

“Does he know I’m alive right now?”

Sombra thought before she answered. A little too long for Rat’s liking, as if she was parsing what information she wanted to give him. “He knows you were transported into Talon’s care, but that’s all he knows. Getting information to him is a lot more low-tech than I normally prefer.”

“Ah, I get it,” Rat snarled, trying to pull himself up to look fiercer than he was. “So yer allowed to make him suffer, but I can’t.”

“I’m not trying to make him suffer, Rat. It’s a max security prison. Getting information in-”

“Yer the queen of the world’s secrets! Yer tellin’ me that ya can’t possibly send in one message to tell Hog that I’m awake? Or at least that I’m not dead?”

She pursed her lips and pushed Rat back with a two-finger tap to his nose. “Suddenly you care an awful lot about his well-being for someone who wants him to suffer.” Her eyes narrowed in thought, staring off like she was on the brink of a revelation. “It’s like that with you two, no? You’re allowed to make him suffer, other people can’t. You’re allowed to insult him, but you’ll lose your mind if anyone else does. Same with rescuing him. You want that to be up to you and only you. You want to hold his fate in your single, broken hand.” Sombra nodded to herself, quite satisfied with her own revelation. “Huh. Interesante.”

Junkrat dropped back against the pillows and sighed loudly, kicking out at her.

Sombra snapped her focus back on him when his heel smacked against her shoulder. “Just try talking to him.” She said said, pushing his foot back.

“He can’t even hear me.” Hog still lay in the same spot. He wasn’t dead, was he? Killed himself? No, no, no, Rat forced away those intrusive thoughts.

“No shit. That’s the point.” She pat his leg and stood up. “Give it a try. I’ll take the screen back tomorrow if you still decide you don’t want it.”

“Fine.”

“Bueno.” Sombra strode away from his bed and out the door, not making eye contact, typing notes onto her screen as if her thoughts were about to fly out of her head.

“Ya leavin’ finally?” Rat yelled after her. She twirled her fingers in a wave over her head. “Good! Ya talk too much anyway.”

***

“Just need...” Sombra muttered to herself, downloading Junkrat’s most current medical records from the console in the attached room onto her own hardware. Might as well while Dr. Schiller and her cronies were out of the way. Stealing information that didn’t belong to her always gave her a slight thrill, but she had to admit to herself, not as much as it used to. Ah, to be young again when the information she stole was the same as food on her plate. Now, like a drug addict, she needed to raise the stakes to get even a portion of that buzz again. Nicking a fucked up Junker’s medical records wouldn’t come close to cutting it.

“This looks promising,” Reaper growled out of thin air as he materialized, sending Sombra a foot into the air.

“Dios mio, Gabe! It's my job to scare people like that.” She looked the man up and down a couple times. Black hood, leather armor, spikes on his gloves to prevent spontaneous hand-holding, and his signature white skull mask. “Ah, who am I kidding, that’s totally your job.” She turned her back to him and pressed her finger to the screen again.

As far as Sombra knew, Reaper didn’t have an “off-mode.” Even with high-ranking Talon officials, you could find them at the right time of night or morning dressed down and bleary-eyed, but not Gabriel Reyes. Sombra often sat in a large common area in her shorts and t-shirt early in the morning, sipping a sugary soda and pouring through the world’s secrets. Even then she would see Reaper skulk on by dressed in his black armor like he was on his way to kill a talking gorilla or patronize a fetish club. She would roll her eyes and shout after him about how his plans for world domination were going. He never responded.

Reaper had been referring to Junkrat who was red-faced and shouting at the screen on his lap on the other side of the one-way window. The soundproofing blocked out all sounds coming out from Rat’s room unless you opted to turn on the voice comm. The half-man, half-ghost strode over to stand beside her, leaning against the window with his arms crossed against his chest, mask pointing towards her expectantly.

"You bought the package Junker deal, Gabe.” She gave him a two-armed shrug. “You shouldn't be surprised when one half doesn't work without the other." Sombra had to admit, this was not a good look. When she pitched Reaper the idea of the Junkers joining their team, she described them as unpredictable and dangerous, but effective if pointed in the right direction. What Reaper now stared at through the glass was 1/4 of one Junker in a state of near mental breakdown. Like he said, not promising.

“Nothing that I have seen tells me that they’ll work together even if the Hog is here.”

“Gabe, you’re a professional in alienating people you once cared about, si?” His head cocked in her direction, daring her to go on. She dared. “What is the one thing you wish you had done differently to fix those relationships?” Her fingers hung in the air for a moment, wondering how far she should push her luck. Pretty far, she decided, pulling up an image with a young Strike Commander Morrison posed on the screen in all his strapping American glory. Reaper tensed at the sight, his fists clenching. “Take Jack- what is the one thing you could have done or still could do to help heal those wounds?”

“Kill him once and for all?” Reaper attempted to swat away the image, forgetting only Sombra had that ability.

“No…” Sombra bit her lip, holding back a smile. The photo dangled in front of him for another couple seconds before she dismissed it. “Not that. How about talking it out?”

Reaper rubbed a clawed hand to his forehead. “Sombra, I see the point you’re making about those two idiots, but that really does not apply to my-”

“‘Course it does!” She flung an unwanted arm around Reaper’s shoulders. “Look at him.” She gestured to Junkrat struggling to break the light screen against his knee. “The reason why he is even bothering with this exercise is because he has enough emotions to care. This is how he’s showing that he’s been hurt. It does not mean the relationship is beyond repair. If they get the chance to talk through how and why they hurt each other, I think they will come to realize that they were trying to do what was best for each other. Now can you think of ways you can apply that logic to your own relationships?”

He unhooked her arm from his shoulders and took a couple steps back before she could initialize any more physical contact.

“Sombra, I don’t have time for this. You are the only one in Talon who has been able to work with them and direct their ball of destruction in a meaningful way. I need you to harness whatever freak side of yourself you need and get the Rat to help you and Widow bail out the Hog. As soon as possible. Is that clear?”

“Si, si.”

The two of them observed Junkrat through the window in silence. Curiosity got the better of Reaper and he reached forward to tap the unmute button to listen in.

“Ya remember the time I saved yer ungrateful ass when the Queen tried ta have ya killed?” Junkrat had the screen resting against his knees, his attempts to smash it unsuccessful, now gesturing wildly with his arms. He was a hand-talker and this broken arm almost made him half-mute. “Ya weren’t even fuckin’ me back then! I coulda jus’ left ya right there and not looked back… wait, I was the one who got captured by her and you saved me… Ah who cares, yer still a cocksucking piece of cunty pie leavin’ me here ta fend for myself.” Reaper smacked back down on the button like it was going to nuke the Outback all over again.

“Saw some of your pet project participants while I was running Rat around today.” Sombra broke the silence between them, glancing up him to read an expression, forgetting that there never was one. “They don’t look so good. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not your area of concern.”

Sombra scowled as he scrolled through his own datapad. “It concerns me if you still plan on using Roadhog.”

“How sweet. Sombra suddenly has ‘feelings’ and ‘friends.’”

“I have lots of friends, Gabe,” She put her hands on her hips, affronted. “That’s why I’m good at my job. Roadhog happens to be one of them. I want you to promise me that nothing happens to him, especially when I’m trying to juggle Junkrat’s mental, physical and emotional wellbeing,”

“Nothing will happen to him… without his permission.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Sombra turned away, not pushing further. This was an area where Reaper could shut her out entirely if she went too far. She had to take what he was willing to give her for now. “I really should go check on-”

“Are you forgetting something?” Reaper growled, cutting her off.

“Qué?”

Reaper’s dark eyes holes bored into her. “Certain priceless treasures in the possession of certain filthy Rats.”

“Ah, si.” She had made a promise to Reaper, hadn’t she? Maybe it had been just a tad premature, but Sombra wasn’t one to back away from a challenge.

“Well? I was expecting some progress on this by now. Is it on his person? You’ve seen enough of him to know by now.” Reaper was referring to Rat’s near constant nude state. It gave her some small amount of joy to imagine Reaper standing back here being forced to observe that skinny, naked Junker ass.

“Not from what we can tell. The obvious suspect was his peg leg. The thing was mangled when it came in, but we searched it thoroughly for anything small that could be Omnic tech and we found nothing.” Reaper remained unmoving, not satisfied with her answer. “The other option was that it was in his metal arm or his tire.”

“And? You checked them?”

“Both were left at the scene of their accident.” She smirked as a loud sigh left Reaper’s mouth. “But I don’t think Roadhog would have left it back there if he knew it contained Junkrat’s treasure.”

“What if the Rat didn’t tell him where the treasure was?”

“‘Course he did.” She waved him off with a confidence she could pull off for things had no idea about. “He loves him.” Even with the mask to cover his face, Sombra could tell Reaper was having a serious case of buyer’s remorse. “Besides,” Sombra continued. “We don’t even know it’s on his person. Could be somewhere back in Australia. Could also be nothing at all.”

“Nothing at all?” His voice stung with malice. “I believe the words that came out of your mouth were “Omnic God Program”. Now you’re scaling it back from that to “nothing at all”?

“I’m fairly certain of its contents, but as I told you before, I know nothing for sure. It's all speculation.” She flashed him a toothy grin. “Educated speculation, but I wanted to set you up to expect a whole variety of possibilities, that way you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m already disappointed.” He bumped his forehead against the glass a few times. “What even is treasure to someone like that? A couple gallons of water? A few bars of gold? If he found a piece of powerful tech in the Omnium, would he know what it is?”

“You don’t know him, but give him a little more credit. He may be radiation-touched but he is clever. He’d know if he found something of true value.”

“Obviously not clever enough to restrain himself from telling the world about it.”

Sombra ran her fingers through her hair, picking at one of the cybernetic nodes. “His need for attention trumps almost all of his other functions. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.”

“How about this?” He came back in to lean close to her, boxing her in between the wall and the window. “You go in there and get it out of him. Now.” Junkrat seemed to be calming down, but still carrying out his one-way argument.

Reaper always tried to do this, use his intimidating presence to bully people into getting what he wanted. It worked on most people. Not her.

“Here’s something else you might not know, Gabe.” Sombra pressed a finger into his skeletal nose. “Foreplay is good. Is that why you and Jack had a falling out? You never did enough foreplay? I can see that.” Reaper didn’t move or speak, but the fury emanating from him was just about coming out in visible smoke. “I can’t just jump right to it, demanding his precious treasure he has protected with his life. He’ll spook and shut down. I’ll get it out of him, but it’ll take work and patience, earning his trust. Something I’m already doing if you’ve been paying attention in the slightest.”

“One of these days, someone’s going to make you deliver on all the promises you make.” A threat, of course, but Reaper stepped back, rage subsiding at least for the moment.

“I just hope it’s not you, Gabey-baby.”

Reaper became insubstantial as she reached out to pinch his cheek and hovered over to the door. For a split second she considered locking him in with her, but opted to open the door instead and let him make his dramatic exit. If nothing else, she could always pride herself on her ability to make Reaper leave a room. As she turned back to the window, her eyes widened to see Junkrat lying on his bed, blanket pushed off to the side, with the screen held out in front of him. He had calmed down substantially but his flushed, pink cheeks and visible erection told her he was entering into a new phase of dealing with Hog’s absence. She checked the time on her datapad, shaking her head.

“It only took you fifteen minutes, Rat? Even I thought you’d hold off a little longer.”

Sombra finished her download and left a sticky note with a cute skull to let Dr. Schiller know she had been there. What’s the fun if no one knew you took anything? She quickly darted from the room after Reaper, temporarily locking the door behind her to keep out any nurses trying to do their jobs.

***

There he was on the screen. His Roadhog, sleeping away the painful waking world. Rat’s fingers stroked across the image, muttering apologies for his outburst like Hog could hear him. He was just so furious, he needed to take it out on him in some way. Wasn’t that the damn truth? Needing Roadhog to take his anger out on. It’s not like Roadhog didn’t do the same to him. Even in the best of times, their relationship was like that, feeding off the good and bad in each other. Maybe Sombra was right. Maybe they were codependent.

Roadhog’s body hitched on the screen in a way that instantly refocused Rat’s attention. Many nights in the Outback while Rat was supposed to be keeping watch, he would admire his bodyguard as he lay with his back to him. Occasional quiet grunts and moans would slip past his mask as Hog tried to discreetly rub himself off. Junkrat would palm himself through his shorts; those sounds, Hog’s heavy breathing, always did a number on him. It took a few months before Rat worked up the courage to sidle up behind him and slip his flesh hand down Hog’s pants, praying he wasn’t about to have his only good arm ripped off.

Junkrat finagled the screen so it fit against the railing of his bed and he didn’t have to clutch it in his bad arm. He had to admit it felt a little wrong watching Hog like this, gazing on lecherously as his partner struggled to get some semblance of pleasure in a dark cell hundreds of miles away. Like with any moral uncertainty, Junkrat was an expert at pushing back his conscience. Still, it gave him enough pause to cause him to turn his head away from the screen, closing his eyes and recalling better times.

_A massive hand crushed his chest, pinning him down against the scratchy hotel comforter, and his knees up around his own ears. He longed for a time when it didn’t hurt to move. He never appreciated it enough, being flexible, being fuckable, not being too fragile, even though everything was fragile in Roadhog’s grasp. His toes dug into the fat on Hog’s back. Roadie’s head between his legs, his mask ripped from his face and left all the way back in the doorway to their hotel room where Rat had dropped it. Hog’s warm mouth closed around Rat’s cock for a moment before he moved down to loosen Rat up. He loved to squish his thighs on either side of Hog’s ears, holding him captive until Roadie pushed his legs down against the bed with a grunt._

_His favorite thing in the world: Roadie eating him out like he was made to do it. The strength and softness of his tongue as he worked his hole made Rat buck his hips and sent twitches through his body. He knew exactly how to work Rat to ease all of the tension out of him, melt him down into a drooling puddle. Rat would cease his pleasured writhing to watch Roadie and would sometimes catch those grey eyes staring back up at him. He’d giggle breathlessly, reach down and tussle those soft, silver locks and Hog would grumble into the meat of his ass, embarrassed to be caught admiring his partner._

Sweat beaded on Rat’s chest and his cock was hard as he lay in his hospital bed. Part of him mentally cheered for himself. “See, Hoggy? The docs didn’t take away my ability to get it up! What was I worried ‘bout?” But he stared at a bigger problem: only one arm, broken and bound in a cast. Worth a try though, right? Rat glanced over at Roadhog on the screen to see him still going at it, facing the wall. Yes, worth a try. He reached down and closed his left hand over his cock. Skin on skin, warm, normal, okay, everything felt right. Until he started pumping and pain shot up through his arm. Nope, nope, nope. He groaned in frustration, releasing his cock and bashing his head back on the pillows.

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention: those devilish prosthetic fingers resting on his side table. They taunted him. He could have sworn any moment those fingers were going to curl up into a coy little wave and beckon him over. Junkrat chewed his lip, pulled at the skin until it bled. He didn’t need it, he didn’t need it. He had been fine up till now, hadn’t needed to come for over a month. But visions danced in his head: memories, fantasies, out of order, disorganized, or exactly as they happened and Roadhog shuddered beside him on the screen. They demanded his full attention.

_As soon as Hog showed signs of coming up from eating him out, Junkrat sprung from the bed, excess energy pulsing through him. Throwing himself over his partner’s belly, his mouth latched onto one of Hog’s nipples, sucking and pulling and kissing while he ground down on Hog’s hardened cock, neglected up until now. Junkrat always let his overeagerness rule him and he focused too long on one nipple until Hog had to shove him off. He forced Rat onto his back where he worked a lubed finger into his hole. “Stop squirming.” Hog’s hand on his chest teased at his nipples as he stretched him down below, twisting, pressing just right to earn every squeal out of him._

“Ah fuck.” The words came out of Junkrat and he knew he had no choice. He might have even preferred to jerk it with his old metal hand over this one, but he had to try at least. His erection was painful, precome already leaking onto his belly. He snatched up the fake arm, thankful for Dr. Schiller telling him how to put the arm on in case some random half-armed person came by- oh shit, he played right into her hand! She knew he would come to this. Damn, he hated being predictable. Jamison Fawkes was anything but predictable! But nothing was about to stop him. He held the nodes to his stump, pulling the straps as tight as he could. Several slight electric shocks prickled from his stump as the nerves aligned. One by one, he closed each finger to his palm, then opened them again. He repeated the exercise several times until it moved with the ease and responsiveness of a real hand.

Junkrat had a passing thought and glanced to the shadowed window. He didn’t see anyone back there, which was good enough for him. Even if they were, bunch of damn perverts could watch for all he cared. One final exercise for the new hand- fingers curled from the outside in until they folded into a weak middle finger, which he pathetically directed towards the window.

Rat closed the new hand over his cock, rubbing a couple times to get the hardness back. Mild discomfort from his shoulder at first, but then it was okay. The hand was… not terrible actually. Humanlike enough so he could close his eyes and pretend it wasn’t exactly what it was. He began pumping, fake thumb spreading the pre down and around his shaft. He let loose a loud moan, jolting himself temporarily into reality. Was he really going to do this? Jerk it to Roadhog, the man who betrayed him and exiled him to torture in this bed? Fuck yes, he was. The least that oversized pig could do was offer him some good memories to whack it to.

_Roadie loomed over him on the bed, one hand beside his head, thumb stroking Rat's cheek, the other lining up his cock and pushing in, sliding into Rat’s slick and loosened hole. A filthy, needy moan escaped Rat’s lips as Roadhog filled him nice and tight. Once he was seated fully, he leaned forward and kissed Rat’s chest, finding his way up to his neck. He was possessive, selfish, he needed Rat all to himself, and sucked on his neck until it left crimson marks. Hog held his hips in place until he received the go-ahead, waiting on Rat to calm his breathing (counting one, two, three, four, five). Flesh and metal fingers grated long stripes down Hog’s back before they danced up to hold Hog’s face and stroke the grey stubble on his scarred cheeks. Junkrat’s wide amber eyes flitted across Hog’s face, drinking in every inch like he only had thirty seconds to memorize a masterpiece. Hog’s thick lips pulled into a small, self-conscious smile and he looked away from Rat’s awed expression. “I’ll stop being sentimental,” he told Hog, tugging on a tuft of his hair. “Jus’ fuck me.” Roadhog was happy to oblige._

_He’d always remember the feeling of Hog on all sides of him, inside of him, belly crushing him, pounding into him, all love and lust. They moved together, all sorts of noises squeaking out of Rat with each thrust, his hips rocking up to meet Hog. Their pace increased, the growing heat and smell of sweat filling the space between them. The closer they came to the edge, the louder Rat’s voice rang off the walls, laughing, babbling, urging him on through his pleasure. Release came hard and fast for the two of them. Hog got the cue when Rat was about to burst and dropped his hand down to milk Rat’s cock. His body spasming in pleasure, eyes rolled back, was enough to drag Hog into his own orgasm, filling Rat like it was his job._

Junkrat couldn’t remember ever having fantasies as vivid as this one. His memory was usually pisspoor but he could still see, smell and taste every bit of Roadhog on that night in Paris. His head dropped towards the screen, fist pumping his length, his legs twitching in anticipation of his building release. Roadhog had finally rolled onto his back in his cell, his thick, familiar cock visible in his hand. “C’mon, Roadie, c’mon.” Rat breathed out. “Come for me, Roadie.” There it was- Hog’s legs locked up, toes curled, and his hand pawed at the bedding, searching for something to grab onto as he came. The sight was enough to push the bedridden Rat over the edge. With one final twist and a whimper, Rat finished into the hand that wasn’t his. His chest heaved up and down as he calmed, the buzzing in his body soothing his aches. Maybe it was part of his post-ejaculatory bliss, but Rat couldn’t help but pull the screen closer like it was Hog beside him. He rested his fake, cum-covered fingers on the screen where Hoggy now lay exhausted, big belly rising and falling.

“Hope ya were thinkin’ ‘bout me.” Rat said, breathing in and out with him. “‘Course ya were.” Junkrat watched as Hog wiped his hand on his bedding, bringing his palm up to cover his eyes. “I’m gonna getcha out of there, Hoggy.” He meant it. Enough of this. Enough self-pity, wallowing, inflicting pain on himself. He could still be mad at Hog, he could still cuss him out and beat on his chest when he saw him again. But he had to see him, had to get him back. Maybe they’d share that trash pit Sombra made for them, maybe they’d blow the place sky high, maybe they’d run out and get themselves killed. It didn’t matter.

Minutes ticked away. Rat lay with his body wrapped around the screen before he came to his senses, ripping the fake arm from his stump. With the nerves still stinging from the sudden adjustment, he dropped it in the trash can beside his bed where it fucking belonged. Everything in its place and a little tension burned off, he pulled Hog’s screen back up to his chest and slipped into sleep, his dreams haunted by the man who could never leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all totally knew that was going to be Chekhov's creepy fap arm. If it shows up in a scene, someone's going to jerk it with it later. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Your comments and feedback are so appreciated!
> 
> Thank you to volatileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorado flashback and a meeting of the minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those following along at home: [the Dorado heist map!](https://hydra-media.cursecdn.com/overwatch.gamepedia.com/e/eb/Banco_de_Dorado.jpg?version=792e373dd3f046cf766e6caa47d042ae)

October 31, 2076

1.5 years ago

Roadhog smiled behind his bandanna as Rat hobbled ahead of him down the cobblestone streets. Damn, he could move fast even with that limp. The lights, warmth, smells and sounds of Dorado brought out a strange innocence in the maniac. Things that would not normally delight a 25-year-old man would send him in a giggling frenzy. He swatted at low-hanging pinatas, pulled down streamers, bought five dozen buñuelos and handed them out to whichever children were not running away screaming “el pirata!!” Rat became a hit with a nearby gaggle of teens when he scooped up an enormous handful of sparklers from a cart, lit then all at once and tossed them into the air.

“What’s the purpose of being incognito if you’re going to make a scene everywhere you go?” Hog grumbled at him.

“Inhognito,” Junkrat corrected him with a cackle, spinning on his peg and attempting to stuff a sticky, sugary buñuelo in Hog’s mouth through his bandanna. Hog grabbed his wrist, squeezing it until he dropped the fried ball on the ground. “Ya cunt. Yer just tryin’ to stomp on my Festival de la Luz spirit, aren’t ya?”

“You just learned about it fifteen minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have spirit.”

While the Junkers hadn’t know anything about the Mexican festival when they arrived in the coastal city, Junkrat was not one to remain in ignorance. He took much pleasure in finding plaques and signs around the city and scanning them into their tablet’s translator until he had a clear picture of what exactly they were celebrating. The “Festival of Lights” honored the restoration of electricity to Mexico after the Omnics destroyed the powergrids during the years of the Omnic Crisis. The man responsible was President Guillermo Portero. Hog didn’t think it was possible to turn a corner in Dorado without running to a statue of the man or a street or bakery named in his honor.

“De la Luz, de la Luz,” Junkrat belted in his nasally singing voice, waving his arms around in the mockery of a conductor. “I drink all the booze on de la Luz.”

“Have you been in the booze already?”

“Nah, but I’m about to!” He linked his fingers into Hog’s arm, urging him closer. “I’m in a good mood tonight. New city, meetin’ new people, goin’ to new bars, all with my ol’ friend, Hoggy.”

“Just…” Hog glanced around at the uneasy faces of the people around them. “Make your good mood a little less… you.”

“Gotcha, Cap’n Stick-in-the-Hog.”

About a month ago, the Junkers received a message from a representative of the Los Muertos gang on their tablet (well, Hog’s tablet. He insisted on carrying it with them so they could keep up to date on police movements and news about them. Not that he would admit to it, but he also used it to find the best places for carryout and boba). Details were fuzzy at best, talking about an “opportunity”, “revolution” and the chance to hit a dastardly suit where it hurt. It came to them at a time they were fleeing France and looking for another promising venture. The upfront payment deposited into their account certainly didn’t hurt either. The pair were on good terms with a retired pilot possessing few morals who gladly toted the Junkers where they wanted to go for piles of cash. Piles of cash were not in short supply between the two of them.

The duo followed directions provided to them from their contact to meet “Sombra”. It was apparently rather uncommon for Sombra to meet people herself, but she was making an exception for the Junkers. Their Los Muertos contact did insist the two not show up in their usual gear and should make an effort to blend in. Them blending in was generally a fruitless venture, but they gave it their best effort. Rat wore a green hoodie along with cargo shorts that were slightly cleaner than his usual ones. Hog donned sunglasses and a bandana over his mouth, with jeans and an enormous vest they picked off the body of a large American tourist, killed in collateral damage that was definitely most likely not their fault. It had more pockets in it than necessary for any human being, and Junkrat made it a personal goal of his to fit as many trinkets and garbage into the various pouches.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” Roadhog tugged Rat by the back of his hood.

“Yeah, a bit,” The younger man admitted, pulling the fabric away from his torso. “Shoulda known better. All this world travel got my seasons mixed up.”

“I told you it would be.” Hog said dryly, checking the tablet for any last minute updates from their mysterious contact.

“An’ ya know what else ya told me?” Junkrat said, rounding so he stood in front of him, stopping him in the Dorado street. “Ya told me I had to wear a shirt! Now how’s a man supposed to rectify those two things? It’s gonna be hot but ya have ta wear a shirt?”

Roadhog gestured at a passing man wearing a tank top. Rat scrunched up his nose.

“I jus’ don’t see the point. He’s not considering the trifecta of male sweatiness.”

The look on Hog’s face, though obscured with a bandana and shades, read “should I even ask?” He didn’t have to ask, Rat was going to tell him anyway.

“See, you’re a big pig, so ya sweat everywhere, all the time, hot, cold, yer sweatin’.”

Roadhog kept walking with a sigh, Rat rushing up beside him, his peg thumping on the street along side his single boot.

“But take me, I’m a more slender bloke, but still have ta be worryin’ about my general perspiration. There are three zones that will getcha into trouble when yer tryin’ ta wear a shirt. 1. Front, 2. Back, 3. Pits.”

“You just described your entire torso.”

“So?” Rat said, through a mouthful of buñuelos.

“So instead of describing zones, jus’ say you don’t like wearing shirts because your whole torso gets sweaty.”

“Rack off, Hog. I’m tryin’ ta learn ya something for once.”

Roadhog waved his hand for him to continue as he followed the map on his screen.

“Lower back and pits are the worst for being sweaty. The. Worst. Yer shirt will stick to ya, all warm and wet and slimy. Ya know that’s not a good look. Then there’s yer stomach-”

Roadhog easily slipped into one of his patented ‘completely ignoring him but making small noises of agreement so he doesn’t notice’ modes. Forty-five years in the brutal outback sun did a good enough job familiarizing him with how sweat drenched he could get in the hot sun. Rat knew that, of course, but sometimes he just liked to hear his own voice, to fill the air and Hog’s head with the melody of his grating voice and nothing else.

Calaveras was the name of the bar where they were to meet this Sombra figure. Just a bit of more of a walk through the warm streets of Dorado, up towards the Castillo. Hog did have apprehensions about all of this. It was his job to protect Junkrat, not walk him straight into a trap. Rat had been the one to convince him to take the job, hassled him until he wrote up a reply to the message, bugged him ten times an hour to check if they received a response. Doubts suddenly surged into Hog’s mind, pulling at the easy comfort between them. He remembered all the other times Junkrat had waved off Hog’s reservations saying “Nah, Hoggy, ya don’t know what yer talkin’ about, we’ll be fine” only to have them escape the cops by the skin of their asses. However, the level of secrecy and caution taken by Los Muertos and Sombra told him the gang had more to lose than the Junkers if their deeds were discovered.

“Why did you wear a sweater of all things if you don’t like being sweaty?” Hog suddenly cut Rat off mid-sentence.

“I got one response for ya,” Junkrat pulled up his hood, yanking on the drawstrings so the opening shriveled down to only show his long nose and janky smile.

“Rat…”

“What? You can go around wearing a pig face but I get the ol’ ‘Rat, ya dim cunt’ if I wanna be discrete with who sees my face?”

“Discrete is the last word on earth I would use to describe that look.” Hog paused and scanning the crowd around them. “How ‘bout something like that?” Hog pointed to a tall woman who was not unlike Junkrat in her thinness and flat-chestedness. She wore a loose, light top, leaving her stomach and lower back exposed.

“Hmmm,” Rat said, appraising her getup. “Not bad, not bad.”

The woman, who had been buying a sausage at a nearby stand, shifted uncomfortably in the gaze of the two towering freaks.

“Sheila!” Rat yelled to her. Her hands were shaking as she passed money over to the vendor and picked up her bags. “Where didya get that top? Looks aces!”

The sausage vendor scowled at him and shouted to him in Spanish, gesturing wildly for them to fuck off. Roadhog grabbed Rat by the arm and dragged him on his way.

“Let go of me!” Rat tripped under Hog’s grasp as his bodyguard walked through an archway and into a brick paved square. They had made the trudge up a small ways to the fort overlooking Dorado proper. He walked him up a small alleyway off the main road and dropped him.

“Take off your sweater.”

Junkrat’s eyes brightened and the smile returned. “I knew you would be up for it! And I remembered the lube this time. It’s in…” He started patting his cargo shorts pockets. “I better not have left it- oh, no here it is!”

“Sweater.” He grabbed it by the hood and yanked it off Rat’s head. Producing a small knife from his belt, Hog started cutting into the fabric. First he sliced the sleeves off, then made the cleanest cut around the center, just above the pocket. Hog passed it back to Rat, who slipped it back on.

“Not bad!” He popped the hood up over his easily recognizable hair and beamed out at him.

“Will probably pass the “no shirt no service” rule.” Hog fought the temptation to reach out, run his fingers along the lines of Rat’s abs. Didn’t want to encourage him.

“Do they even have that rule here? Lottsa places don’t.” Rat puffed out his chest. “Some societies appreciate the male body in all its forms and don’t try to make us cover up. It’s downright draconian.”

Roadhog slid his knife back into his pants, doing a doubletake back at him. “Where the fuck did you learn that word?”

Grinning widening on his face, Rat tugged the tablet out of the back of Hog’s pants and paged through the screen. He flipped it around, showing him a bubbly fonted app reading ‘Word of the Day.’

“Hmm.” Hog replied, mildly impressed with his charge.

“I’ve been tryin’ to use one every day.”

“That would explain why you insisted on saying we were peregrinating the other day instead of walking.”

“So uh, Hoggy,” The grin changed from proud to Rat’s brand of lewd, signaling to Hog he was in for something. Rat pressed the tablet against his exposed stomach and dragged it up his chest under the fabric to rub it against his nipples, waggling his eyebrows in some mockery of seduction. “Ya feelin’ bucolic?”

“You’re going to have to look that one up again,” Hog snorted, plucking the screen from his sweaty chest. “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“C’mon, Hoggy.” Rat’s shoulders dropped when Hog wasn’t biting on his seduction routine.

“Rat…”

“Hoggggy.” The way Junkrat whined his name was an excellent turn-off. “You promised we would this morning and we didn’t!”

“Because you slept in.”

“I told ya sorry like a hundred times!” Rat grabbed Hog by his belt and planted his feet the best he could, anchoring his weight to the ground.

“We’re meeting Sombra in 3 minutes at Calavaras. Even you’re not-” Hog looked down at his tablet, reading “Arrival Time: 1 Minute” and sighed.

“You were gonna say ‘even yer not that quick,’ weren’t ya, Hoggy?” Rat rubbed his crotch on Hog’s thick thigh, reaching up to fondle his chest and loop around his neck. “You and I both know tha’s not true.”

Goddamn it, Hog did not want to admit to himself how that dumb smile and those bright eyes affected him. Where the fuck had his iron willpower gone? Slowly and methodically whittled away from years of their partnership.

“Come 'ere.” Roadhog dragged the giggling Rat further into the alley, so passersbys were not witnessing casual alleyway fellatio. The buildings closed in around them and graffiti colored the walls with declarations of loyalty to Los Muertos.

“You have to be completely quiet. Understood?” Rat nodded vigorously and put his finger to his own lips.

Roadhog pushed Junkrat up against a closed gate. It didn’t look like it was going to burst open in the next minute and they were tucked far enough away that someone would have to be looking for them to get an eyeful. He palmed Rat through his shorts, letting him grind against his hand while he pulled his bandanna down around his neck. Their mouths and teeth crashed together, noses bumped, little thought given to technique.

With one hand, Hog popped open the button on Rat's shorts and with the other he hoisted the smaller man up against the gate, his legs resting on Hog’s shoulders. Gripping the conveniently placed straps on the top of Hog’s vest, Rat held on for dear life, his hips twitching as Roadhog took his freed length into his mouth. No time for being romantic, no time for foreplay or build-up. If Rat wanted to come, he had about thirty seconds to get himself there.

When Hog’s warm mouth closed around him, Junkrat threw his head back, banging it on the metal gate, moaning like he was auditioning for Outback Cum Sluts 6. Hog’s teeth threatened the sensitive skin around the head, jolting Rat out of his bliss. Hog’s cock had stiffened against his zipper at the sound of Rat’s pleasure, but he had to be single-minded here, keep Rat in line. Two of the world’s most notorious criminals were not about to get caught cock-in-mouth in a Mexican back alleyway. He could only imagine the headlines.

“Quiet quiet, I know, sorry Hoggy.” Rat locked his legs around Roadhog's neck and nestled his arms around his huge head, metal fingers apologetically stroking his silver ponytail. Grumbling, Hog again sank his mouth down around his partner’s cock, keeping an eye up on his face to abort the mission at the next sign of a sound. The Rat learned his lesson, mouth screwing up, eyes squeezing shut, but remaining completely and beautifully silent.

Roadhog considered himself adept at many things. He was a great shot, could tear up most targets with his brutal hook, a good writer with lovely penmanship, an adept chef and an even better baker if given the space and ingredients. But he was exceptional at giving head. Part of it was the gift of having a large mouth, meaning he could take partners of almost any size fully. With no gag reflex to speak of (and with Rat not being of exceptional size), swallowing Rat down was an easy task. Sometimes he doubted his abilities, discounting them by telling himself that Rat was young and horny and could come at the drop of a hat. But after only thirty seconds of sucking him down, running his tongue along the vein and applying just the right amount of pressure to his balls, Rat bucked and arched his back, coming straight down his throat, unable to contain a long, satisfied moan. Hog knew he still had it.

Giving Rat’s non-existent ass meat a squeeze, he buttoned Rat’s pants back up and dropped him onto the cobblestone street. It sent something stirring inside him to watch the way his partner's legs wobbled like a baby animal.

“Hooly-fucking-dooly, Hogster.” Rat panted. “Ya jus’ keep gettin’ better, don’t ya?” He steadied himself on Hog’s forearm, stroking it. “Can I return the favor?”

“Now we really don’t have time.” Roadhog wiped the string of cum from his chin. “And you know I don't always do it for the immediate gratification.”

“Ah, Roadie,” Junkrat let himself be dragged along on Hog’s arm, his legs too jello to walk for the moment. “When we see our faces on TV, it should say ‘Giving Lover’ under yer name instead of ‘Deranged Criminal.’”

***

Calaveras was just around the corner from where they stopped for the impromptu blow job (almost too close. The bartender could have practically looked out the door to see them going at it). Rat, not surprisingly, was in exceedingly high spirits. Once he got his legs back underneath him, he bounded off across the square ahead of his slower moving bodyguard.

“There he is again!” Rat hopped from brick pavement up onto the base of a statue guarding over the square. “Señor Festival de la Luz! Jus’ look at that stache!”

“Get down.” Several varieties of flora and cacti adorned base. “You’re going to prick yourself and I won’t be pulling any needles out of you.” Hog extended his hand out as the younger man spun around Guillermo Portero’s legs.

“Yes, ya will.” Metal hand curled around two of Hog’s fingers and Rat leapt down in front of him, only stumbling a little on the uneven ground. “Ya always take care of me.”

Hog hated when he was right.

The bar was small, open to the street and the brisk air blowing in from the coast. It was a little surprising that their contact had chosen this as their location. The size didn’t exactly seem to lend itself to the planning of illicit activities. Both Junkers were used to getting sidelong glances no matter where they went. Even in their disguises, they looked like a circus act gone rogue. Once the bar’s few afternoon patrons had gotten a good long look at the loud, Australian man with only two real limbs and a torn hoodie croptop and his abnormally large, abnormally quiet companion, they determined they had seen enough and minded their own business again.

Hog settled into a table against the wall as Rat waltzed up and ordered two large margaritas, then draped his entire upper body on the counter, babbling on to the uninterested bartender. No one had approached them, identified themselves as the contact they were set to meet. He scanned the bar, eyes settling on each patron one by one, seeing if anyone appraised Rat the wrong way. It was a tough job, making sure no one killed his companion, including the Rat himself.

“Here ya go, my Hoggy.” Rat said after sliding into the seat across from him and pushing over the margarita. “I take it this is not a place where people are normally orderin’ these delicious beverages, but the bloke behind the bar was kind enough to make ‘em anyway.”

“Hope you tipped.”

“Sure did! Left ‘im one of those green ones with the 100.”

“100 Euros?”

Biting his lip, Junkrat reached into his pocket and dumped a crumpled wad in front of himself. “I dunno, Roadie. Money’s like the weather: it’s different everywhere, I can’t keep track of it and… I had a third reason...”

Roadhog picked through the pile of money, attempting to hide it the best he could with his massive hands- pesos, Euros, forints, yen. “No wonder you can’t keep track of what’s what. You have it all mixed together.” He scooped away everything except the pesos, spreading them flat and handing them back to Junkrat. “Just use these.”

The bottle of lube caught Roadhog’s attention as it rested innocuously on the side of the table. “Did you… take that out?”

“Uhh,” Rat scooped it up and turned it over in his hand. “I don’t remember takin’ it out.”

“You dropped it back in the alleyway.” The words came from thin air, a slightly accented, feminine voice with a hint of amusement in the words. The Junkers jerked around, searching for the source of the voice before it materialized in a seat beside them.

A woman appeared where seconds ago there had been no one, legs crossed, picking at her nails. She was tan-skinned with a round face and a wry smile. Her hair was half-shaved with cybernetic nodes that ran wires down to her long fingernails that were laced. Roadhog had never seen tech like this before, certainly had never had anyone materialize before his eyes. Despite her accessories, she was dressed rather casually in jeans and a white tank top.

“Sombra.” She said, extending a hand to Junkrat first. “You’re Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes.” He recoiled at the sight of those claw-like nails reaching out at him.

“‘Scuse me, sheila, but yer not touchin’ me with those. I’m not consentin’ to bein’ probed.”

“Ah.” She withdrew her hand and summoned a purple screen in the same motion. “Technophobe… suppose I shouldn’t exactly be surprised, given your background.” Before either man could voice dissent, she was tapping away on the screen.

“Invisibility.” Roadhog let out a huff, catching her attention from her screen. “Now that’s an impressive ability.”

“Gracias, Mako Rutledge. Roadhog," She added when Hog's eyes narrowed at the use of the dead man's name. "Certainly helps me stalk my prey, though they’re not always as beautifully unsubtle as you two.”

“Ya followed us here?” Rat spoke up again. “That’s a huge violation of privacy.”

She bobbed her head side to side like she was considering the validity of that statement. “Si y no. Spying on you, maybe, but two dementes getting off in a public space pissing distance from my home can’t talk about having their privacy violated. I didn’t watch, don’t worry. Not like it took long.”

“She has a point,” Hog admitted to Rat’s vocal dismay.

“Hoggy!”

She held up another finger before Rat could continue. “That’s not even all I’m talking about here. I’m talking about you two as human beings on the run from the law. Just look at you.”

Rat and Hog exchanged glances and looked each other up and down before staring back at her with raised eyebrows.

“I have never seen two people more… ah, what’s the word…”

“Bucolic?” Rat offered, winking at Roadhog. Hog let out a small snort of amusement. He really needed to look up the correct meaning of that word before Rat would forever use it as a synonym for randy.

“Conspicuous.” Sombra didn’t bother to ask Rat to define his suggested word. “You’re a walking freakshow. It’s a miracle that you two have not been captured.”

“Were ya expectin’ something else?” Rat sipped his margarita, pinky out.

“No no, this is perfect.” Sombra leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers together, her eyes alight. “I needed to meet you myself. The rumors and news reports about you have been almost too much to believe. Now that I see you actually are, everything is going to plan.”

“Plan?” Rat cocked his head and tapped on Hog’s tablet for emphasis. “We don’t got a  
plan, mate. All we got was a mysterious message invitin’ us to Dorado promisin’ an opportunity we wouldn’t want to miss.”

“Claro, claro, walk with me then.” Sombra stood up, flipping through pages on her small screen. She hovered beside their table with the expectation that they were about to follow.

Both Junkers sat unmoving. “Sorry, mate, Hoggy and I jus’ sat down to drink these here margs. You don’t expect us to just leave ‘em unfinished, do ya?”

When she gave an exaggerated sigh and eyeroll, Rat clapped his hands together and grinned at Hog. “Oi, look, Hoggy, I think you two might be related!”

“No,” Hog muttered into his drink. “It’s just everyone finds you taxing.”

“Rack off, Hog. I’m doin’ this for you! You were the one who told me how much ya wanted one! Said ‘I’m Hoggy and I jus’ need to get meself a margarita when we land in Dorado.’”

Rat’s eyes snapped up to Sombra who continued typing.

“Oi! What are ya typin’ there? Are ya writin’ ‘bout me?” He tried to lean over the table to look, his pegleg stabbing into Hog’s side..

“Si si.” Without looking, she extended a finger towards Rat’s forehead pushing him back into his seat. “I’m updating my file on you two so it reads ‘bickers like an old married couple.’”

“We do not!”

“Yes, we do.” Hog sighed, patting Rat on the hand with the perfect balance of affection and patronization to shut him up. “Before we start moving forward with this,” he said to Sombra who made quick eye contact with the larger man. “How ‘bout some assurance that you are who you say you are.”

“Yeah!” Junkrat snapped his attention back to her after a moment of fiddling with Hog’s L ring. “Yer some world famous hacker? How come I’ve never hearda ya?”

“Dios mio, I’m not world famous,” She snickered, tapping away her screen for the moment. “If I were, you should have some serious doubts about my credibility.”

Sombra raised her finger over her head and wiggled it at the bartender. No words exchanged between them as he pulled out a loudly colored energy drink and poured some unlabeled booze into it.

“Proof I am who I say… that can certainly be arranged.” The weary face of the bartender must have triggered an idea for a victim for Sombra. She held out her hand, fingers tensing. As the bartender turned his back to them, holding a light tablet and most likely entering in Sombra’s tab, a purple beam sprung out from her fingertips and reached over to the device. She typed into the air for a few seconds and the connection broke. The purple pixelated light surrounded the device as the bartender poked at the deactivated screen.

“Hijo de puta!” He dropped the useless screen on the bar and scowled over at her.

“Didya break it?” Rat asked, intrigued.

“It’s offline for the moment. And I have complete control over it. Check it out.”

With a wave of her hand, several more purple screens appeared in front of her. She tapped on three of them, vanishing them to the ether before turning the remaining screens so the Junkers could see the other side. One screen listed tabs for each customer, another showed his emails, and the third one appeared to be a gallery of images.

“I could completely empty Calavaras’ cash register…” Sombra appeared to consider it, giving an evil grin over to the bartender. “But instead let’s just look at nudes of his wife.”

Hog and Rat huddled around the screen to gawk at the images flickering across her screen, then both cackled in the direction of the bartender. Rat’s piercing laugh cut short as a realization hit him. He withdrew back into his seat, hands wandering into one of Roadhog’s larger vest pockets for comfort.

“So… can ya only see nudes on people’s tablets if ya hack it or… is that somethin’ ya can do all the time?”

“It’s not just nudes, silly Rat. It’s everything.” Sombra lifted her fingers again, tapping twice in the air and bringing the seething bartender’s tablet back to life. “Photos, messages, calls, all your browsing history, bank account info, spending habits, previous locations, future locations. You name it.”

“Did ya… hack our tablet by any chance?”

She bit her lip and considering her answer. “I didn’t “hack” your tablet as much as I just walked right in. You don’t even have it password protected.”

“Why would we need that?” Rat said. “We keep it in Hog’s ass pocket. No one’s about to go picking around back there save me.”

“Because of people like me, Junkrat. A password is the least you can do to protect your information. I can set you up with something stronger.” Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. “If I were a crueler person, there would be several videos circulating the internet of the world’s favorite anarchists getting it on in every position imaginable.” She loudly munched on some bar peanuts. “Oh by the way, Rat, those boba review videos you do are so charming. Hoggy should really let you publish them.”

His eyes lit up and he clapped his hands together, the violation of privacy lost on him the second a compliment was offered. “Ya think so? I’ve been tellin’ Hoggy for ages that the world needs ta see my vids!”

“No,” Roadhog cut in, rubbing his forehead. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“Sombra, Sombra, nah, listen ta me.” Rat grabbed her by the arm in excitement, momentarily forgetting how much the wires had disturbed him. “I have this all figured out. Sure, in the beginning, posting a vid sayin’ ‘Junkrat and Roadhog were in Bombay havin’ themselves some bubble tea,’ I’ll grant ya is not the greatest plan when yer on the run from the cops. But-” Junkrat pinched Roadhog through his vest when his bodyguard sighed loudly. “But! I’ve gotta backlog now. So when I’m in Mexico, I post one from Japan. Then we head on up to America and I post one from Thailand. Cops won’t know where the fuck we are!”

Sombra nodded in thought. “It’s not actually the worst plan. I can help you set up your system so your IP address reroutes you to a different location and they won’t be able to track where you were when you posted the vid.”

Roadhog blinked across the table at the two of them staring at him, that self-satisfied toothy, told-ya-so grin on his partner’s face.

“No.”

“C’mon, Hoggy,” Rat whined. “Why not?”

“I said no.” Roadhog said it with enough finality this time for them both to shut up. Sure, there might be a way to reroute the videos in such a way to hide where they were. That’s not what he was worried about. Those videos were… intimate. He couldn’t find another way to put it. Not in a sexual way, but in the way that was a window into their lives, a window the outside world didn’t deserve to gawk through. He knew making those vids meant a lot to Rat, but it was something best shared between the two of them.

“Well then, Señorita Hacktivist Extraordinaire,” Junkrat broke the silence before it could settle uncomfortably on the table. “Tell us ‘bout this plan of yers. That is what we came here for.”

“Okay, how ‘bout this since you’re both still sipping away. We’ll do it the analog way.” Sombra snatched a napkin from the bar. Producing a blue ink pen, she started sketching on the napkin. “Now this will just be a vague idea of the building layouts. I’m going to send you-” She pointed at Roadhog. “The detailed building plans on your tablet. You’re going to be robbing el Banco de Dorado.”

She put the napkin and the pen down and pushed them over to Junkrat, who snatched them up.

“Robbing a bank? Now you’re talkin’ my language.”

“Should we be discussing this here?” Roadhog lowered his voice to a quiet rumble. None of the patrons or the bartender seemed interested in what the trio was doing, even after Sombra digitally assaulted one of them, but it could never hurt to be cautious. “It’s not exactly the most private place.”

Her voice lowering as well, Sombra leaned in. “I have so much dirt on that man,” she gestured to the bartender, cleaning glasses with his face turned down. “He would rather jump off that ledge than do anything to compromise my plans. Plus, we’re friends, we go way back.”

Over the next hour, the three of them hatched a plan to infiltrate Dorado’s main bank. Most of it was a spirited back and forth between Junkrat and Sombra, with occasional input from Roadhog about which particular parts of Junkrat’s ideas would get him killed. Sombra did surprise him, in a good way. Hog got the distinct impression from her appearance, the way she carried herself, spoke about this city, that she had plans more far-reaching than anything the Junkers had ever attempted. Still, she listened with intentness to every hairbrained idea that flew out of Junkrat’s mouth, from parachuting onto the roof and blasting their way into the vault to the idea of Hog and Rat coating themselves in gold and posing as new statues for the museum. She smiled as she listened, taking notes on her screen that materialized from her fingers. For someone to just hear him out, listen to him and not tell him his ideas were worthless, that meant the world to Junkrat. Roadhog appreciated that; Rat needed someone who wasn’t his bodyguard to give him a little positive reinforcement. Constant streams of positive reinforcement was not exactly Roadhog’s strong suit.

Roadhog didn’t forget his initial feelings of uncertainty surrounding this meeting and veture. However, he was quick to determine that if this was some kind of setup, it was the most needlessly convoluted plan to arrest the Junkers that had ever been conceived. At minute thirteen of Junkrat and Sombra listing off all the Museum gift shop items that could be configured into impromptu grappling hooks, Roadhog decided to put his doubts out of his mind entirely.

The plan they settled on wasn’t too complicated. A Los Muertos member would drive them to a predetermined location next to the Museo de Historia de Dorado. In the cover of the dark, they would sneak (Roadhog insisted “sneak” was never a word that should be used to describe any expectation of their movements, but Rat waved him off, offering assurances to Sombra that they could be sneaky if need be) passed the guards positioned in the Museum and outside the Town Hall. Sombra didn’t have any moral apprehensions about killing the guards, but warned them it could make things messier. A wall shared by the Town Hall and the Bank was their passage in, where Junkrat would work his magic. He assured Sombra several times over he had the explosive power to blast their way through the outer wall and tunnel their way into the vault in under thirty seconds. Once securely through their new passage, they were free to take as much as they could from the vault before blowing their way out the front door. Sombra would arrange for a small sailboat to be moored just below the cliff face only a few dozen paces from the exit. If the two of them were feeling particularly bold or were heavily pursued, Roadhog could attach his hook to the railing and repel downwards with Rat holding on for dear life.

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You two are distractions. You are one of several distractions happening that night. There will be protests. They shouldn’t get in your way. In fact, they’ll do a good job keeping the authorities’ eyes off you.”

“Lemme get this straight.” Junkrat said, then paused dramatically to sip the remainder of his third margarita loudly with his straw. “You are using us as a distraction while you get off your masterplan?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t consider it “using” you if we’re both benefitting. You two will certainly be coming off better financially.”

“What are you getting out of this?” Hog asked.

“It’s a little harder to quantify.” Sombra drummed her fingernails on the table. “Let’s say there there is a powerful corporation whose leader has been taking advantage of this city and this country for too long. You probably saw him on your way in? Has his own statue in the square and everything.”

Junkrat doubled back like he had the wind punched out of him. “Guillermo? Ya can’t be talkin’ about him. He’s a hero to the people of Dorado, nay, Mexico!”

“The fuck do you know about Mexican history, Rat?” Sombra asked, surprised at Rat’s defence of the CEO.

“Plenty.” He said, lifting his pointy nose in the air.

“He read some plaques while we were killing time today.” Roadhog loved nothing more than raining on Junkrat’s parade when he tried to build himself up.

“Damnit, Roadie. When will you learn how to bluff?”

“When you learn what is worth bluffing.”

“Anyhow,” Junkrat turned back to Sombra. “Yer tellin’ me that Mr. Portero isn’t all that he seems?”

Sombra offered a shrug. “Crazy, no? A man who was president and now CEO of the largest and most powerful corporation in Mexico has let power go to his head and is robbing the country blind. Who ever could have imagined such a turn of events?”

Junkrat glanced at Roadhog then his crooked teeth flashed into a smile. “I like this one, Hoggy! She’s got… what’s that word?” He dug his metal fingers into Hog’s bicep. “Hog, what’s the word I’m lookin’ for? We were just talkin’ about it the other day. Mauve… maudlin...”

“Moxie.” Hog offered.

“Moxie! Tha’s the one! This bloke-” Junkrat leaned towards Sombra, jabbing a thumb at Hog, as if he could be referring to anyone else. “He knows what I’m thinkin’ all the time. Completes my sentences before they’re even outta my mouth. Downright supernatural.”

Sombra chewed her lower lip in a smile, making eye contact with Roadhog who offered a small shrug.

“You two…” She chuckled. “Nothing could have prepared me for you two in person.”

“I take that as the highest form of compliment, Sheila.” Junkrat beamed. “You’ve got this freak on yer team if you need him!” He initiated the handshake this time, pushing past previous fears of being probed.

“It seems like we might all be in agreement. Hog?” She held out a hand to Roadhog.

He hated long nails and he hated techy people, but something about Sombra allowed him to make an exception. She was one of the only people they had ever met who spoke their language truly, understood and appreciated them for their chaos. And she didn’t treat his partner like the deranged freak he was. She listened to him, made him feel valuable, useful, which was more than Hog could say of himself most days. They could work with this. Roadhog extended his hand, engulfing hers in his as he shook it.

“Roight!” Junkrat shot out of his seat, clapping his hands together. “So where’s the party tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was quite excited when the new map, Castillo, was released, but a little disappointed it didn't really add any new lore, just confirmed Junkrat, Roadhog, McCree and Sombra were all around that area at some point in time. It is a beautiful map though, and I love the feel of it.
> 
> I may or may not already have plans to write a Junkrat Tea Review vlog, as referenced by Sombra.
> 
> Bucolic- adj. relating to the pleasant aspects of the countryside and country life.
> 
> Thank you to @volatileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat and Roadhog attend a Los Muertos gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to wrap up the Dorado flashback. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled Junker misery in the next chapter!

“Nothing stronger than pot,” Roadhog cautioned Junkrat as they approached the location of the coastal warehouse. They had changed back into their non-incognito gear, Hog relieved to be in the comfort of his mask.

“Wha’?” Rat looked up at him, bushy eyebrows knotted. “Why the hell not? We’ve done plenty of shit before. Coke in Hong Kong? Dust in Prague? We were fine!”

“That was just the two of us.” Roadhog planted himself in front of Rat, arms crossed. “I could handle that. Too many people here, too many strangers. Don’t know what we’re getting into.”

“Hog,” Rat extended his hands to Roadhog’s chest, bracing his weight against him. “Ya seem to forget that I lived for twenty-one years before I met ya. I’ve done all sorts of shit with me mates back in the day. Shit so righteous that they don’t even have names for it in proper society like this. Ya just pass the needle ‘round and say ‘thank ya, ma'am.’”

Roadhog rubbed his forehead so hard he was certain the leather was going to wear through. “Every day I’m amazed you didn’t die in a Junkertown alley with the rest of your limbs blown off and a needle sticking out of your ass.”

“I’m like a cat.” Rat made a bizarre roaring/pawing motion. He’d seen a cat before, right? “Got nine lives.”

“Is that right? I think you’ve already gone through fifteen of them.” Hog mused. He dropped his massive paw onto Junkrat’s head, rubbing his fingers onto his scalp. Rat practically purred like a kitten at the affection.

“Pot.” Hog reiterated, smoothing out Junkrat’s eyebrows with his thumb and giving him a tap on the cheek. “That’s all.”

“Fine…” Rat spun on his heel, muttering some combination of “yer not my dad” and “stick up yer ass.”

The night sea air swept up from the bay and beckoned them on to their destination: a large wooden warehouse at the end of an unused pier, the Los Muertos safe house. Authorities knew of this stronghold, but let it be rather than start an all out gang war in the Dorado streets. Hog rapped on the door to the warehouse, feeling the pulsing beat from inside. A small slot flicked open and eyes masked in neon yellow appeared through the slot. The person yelled some sort of question to them that they couldn’t understand.

“Ahh… no hablo… Sombra? Sombra invited us?” Rat pulled himself to his full height to try to peek through the slot. It slammed in front of him. “Ah well… damnit. Guess we’re not gettin’ in after all.” He bumped his forehead against Roadhog’s shoulder, then added hopefully. “Maybe we could go try that falafel place we passed on our way over.”

“It’s midnight.”

“So?”

“Closed.”

“Damnit, Sombra!” Junkrat cried dramatically, pounding on the door again. “This is yer fault!”

“Why would you want falafel when we’re in Mexico?” Roadhog the tourist was a purist; when you’re in a new city, you should eat the cuisine of that city.

“Because I like it.” Junkrat scrunched his nose up at Hog. “Why do ya gotta be so judgy about what I wanna eat?”

“It’s not the best way to experience a new city.”

“Maybe not for you. But it is for me.”

Just as Hog was about to reach down and give another patronizing rub to his hair, the door swung open and the heavy music hit them in full force. Sombra stood in front of them, no longer dressed casually as she had been earlier. She wore a bright green and yellow coat with accessories to match her chosen color scheme. It seemed her cybernetic nodes on her head and reaching down to her arms could change color at her desire. The most striking feature of her current attire was a neon green skull painted across her face, similar to the ones graffitied around the city with her name, and bones outlining her arms.

“Sombra!” Rat impulsively threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Hog could just see her hands behind him, give him a few small uncertain pats before he let her go. “I feel underdressed. Do you feel underdressed, Hoggy?” Hog grunted in agreement. “I think we’re underdressed.” Rat’s fingers tapped together anxiously. When weren’t they underdressed? Shirts were such a hassle.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. Come on in.”

Roadhog was certain he had just stepped into one of his worst nightmares. He distinctly remembered waking up in a cold sweat from a dream where he and Rat found themselves in a rave just like this one. Lights, blaring music, the smell of drugs, alcohol, sweat, strangers all assaulted him through the filters of his mask. Rat was in awe, jaw dropping as they stepped into the dark warehouse. It was massive, stretching out far back as he could see, filled with people. Not just people- dozens of neon skeletons dancing, talking, shooting up, fighting, drinking. Every manner of debauchery, every type of inebriant found a home in this Los Muertos hideout. This place was an understimulated extrovert's paradise and he could tell Rat was ready to jump right in by the way he shuddered beside him.

While Junkrat was grinning like an idiot at all the sights and sounds, Roadhog felt his whole body tensing under the gaze of all these strangers. Visions of what his evening could have been flooded into his mind: falafel for Junkrat (with way too much tzatziki sauce smothering it), tacos for Roadhog, maybe they would have sat with their legs dangling over the cliffside over by Calaveras and try to see how far they could throw rocks over the edge. Junkrat would try to make out with him, they’d almost fall off the edge and then they’d decide to take it back to their hideout, let Rat return the favor from earlier. But none of that was going to happen. Nope, instead they were at a party with enough drugs, alcohol, and strangers to kill a thousand Junkrats. After Hog initially turned down Sombra’s invitation to join them this evening, Junkrat and his incessant whining made a good point: they spent had hundreds of nights in like the one Hog fantasized about: quiet, on the downlow. Rarely did they get to experience the culture of a city quite like this, with a local like Sombra. They couldn’t pass it up.

Sombra’s clawed fingers pushed them further through the door and she shut it and locked it behind her.

“I’m gonna introduce you to my people!” She shouted over the heavy pounding rhythm of the music.

“Good luck!” Rat replied, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Can barely hear myself!”

“Watch and learn!”

Roadhog turned his attention to Sombra as she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers clenching. Purple, fractured light began seeping out from her wires and nodes, growing and swirling in intensity until she threw her arms out. The light blasted through the warehouse in a wave, catching every electronic device. Hog felt his tablet slide out of his back pocket as Rat pulled it out and examined the purple light dancing around it. He mashed on all the buttons, but it refused to turn on, just like how she hacked the bartender’s tablet.

The EMP not only took out everyone’s devices, but deactivated the speakers and the few lights that were on. The reaction of the crowd was immediate: first, screaming, as is normal when the lights go out. Then came equal parts groans and excited chants of Sombra’s name. People started shouting at her, mostly in Spanish, but Roadhog distinctly heard someone say in English: “This is a safety hazard, Sombra” and another man say “You know this affects my pacemaker, Sombra!”

Sombra waved a hand, bringing the black lights back online (and hopefully that man’s pacemaker). The brightly colored skeletons reappeared in the room, as if freshly risen from the grave. Scattered cheering broke out.

“Buenas noches, mi familia! I’ll switch to English for these two güeros.” She gestured a skeletal hand at Junkrat and Roadhog.

As all the eyes turned towards them and Junkrat drank in the attention, Roadhog subconsciously lifted his big hand, resting it on Junkrat’s back. It was his silent way of saying to the crowd of gaping onlookers: ‘If it’s not clear, he’s here with me, and you fuck with him at your own peril.’

“You may have heard of these two men, Junkrat and Roadhog.” Sombra spoke to the crowd, who had become surprisingly deferential to her. “They are world travelers from the Outback, boundary pushers, criminals, murderers, whatever you want to call them. But just like all of us, they are sick of how the powerful take advantage of the powerless. We may have different methods but in the end, we all want the Porteros of the world to be exposed for the scum they really are.”

The crowd howled in agreement, shaking the walls of the warehouse.

“Junkrat and Roadhog are going to play a role in our plans tomorrow. They are the best at what they do and we are lucky that they came all the way across the water to help us. Tonight, consider them part of our Los Muertos family!”

Clapping, hooting and shouting again met Sombra’s words. She snatched a neon drink from the hand of a skeleton standing nearby and climbed her way up onto a table.

“A toast to Guillermo Portero!” She held her glass aloft, other gang members mimicking her. Shot glasses were ushered into the Junkers’ hands. “Sleep well tonight, señor, because tomorrow you answer to the Mexican people!”

A deafening roar overtook the warehouse, their excitement contagious, even if Hog only knew a fraction of the complex situation here. With a wave of Sombra’s hand, the music returned and the purple light released the devices from their prisons.

“See?” She grinned at both of them. “You are most welcome here.”

Three orange skeletons must have sensed Junkrat’s energy and eagerness to jump right in. They materialized out of the crowd, extending their arms to beckon him onto the dancefloor. When Roadhog didn’t immediately loosen his grip on Junkrat’s shoulders, the youngest, a light-haired man with piercings in the strangest places on his face and bone-colored paint, bounded up beside him.

“We’ll take good care of him!” He reassured Roadhog.

“He’s not my dad… uhh padre.” Junkrat pushed Hog’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t need his permission.”

Rat threw his arm around one skeleton offering him a shot, tossed it back and danced his way into the crowd. It became difficult to see him with his body was not lit up by the black lights as the rest of partiers were, but his trademark grin glowed blue in the darkness, telegraphing his location for now.

Roadhog sighed, lumbering off to a dark corner where he could sit in peace, where his eardrums wouldn’t be quite as pulverized by the blasting music. This was fine. Junkrat didn’t need him minding him constantly.

“You’re allowed to have fun too. Without being worried about him.”

He leaned his head back to look up at Sombra, dropping into a seat beside him.

“Always on the job.” Oh god, there it was. From across the dance floor, he could see Rat showing his new skeleton friends how to dance “The Shopping Cart.” Rat had found an old video of the dance move online and was thoroughly tickled by it, even before they had gone to the modern world and visited real grocery stores with actual shopping carts. Junkrat had looked like a moron dancing and swaying his way down the aisles and he looked like just as much of one here in a Los Muertos rave. But something about the wacky Junker had captured their interest and now there were six skeletons joining Junkrat, pushing their invisible carts and shopping for invisible items around the dance floor.

“C’mon, Hog.” She smiled as she followed Hog’s gaze to Junkrat and his idiotic dance. “Relax for a minute.”

“Only if I can get another margarita.”

“How ‘bout instead…” She presented a bottle from behind her. “Tequila! It’s like a margarita without the effort. It’s exquisito.” The bottle wiggled its way into his face.

Hog scowled at the bottle, then to her. “That’s not what I asked for.”

“Shut up and drink, Piggy.”

Before he could even say salud, the two of them had tossed back three shots each. The warmth traveled through Hog’s body, instantly affecting him. He could hear a more youthful version of himself laughing at him, deriding him for being an old man with no tolerance. It was true, back in his youth, he would smoke three back-to-back bowls, throw down a half a dozen Victoria Bitters and then with a straight face tell his mates he barely felt a thing. While that was a bit of an exaggeration, that amount of inebriates would put today’s Roadhog on his back.

“Why us?” Roadhog asked her, his voice a bit tight still from the sting of the tequila. “I have to ask. There must be people in this gang who can rob a bank.”

“None with the firepower you two have.” The fact that she wasn’t more drunk than she appeared was a bit surprising. Could she really keep pace with Hog who was about five times her weight? “Perhaps you’ve just gotten used to it, but your Rat packs a lot of heat. I have no one here that can reliable make such a controlled boom.”

She produced a tightly packed blunt and flicked on a lighter, the fire lighting up her neon skull face along with the flashing lights from the dance floor.

“You said we were distractions.” He coughed into the back of his hand, attempting to play it off like it wasn’t still the alcohol burning his throat.

“That’s true, you will be distractions, but there’s more to it.” Sombra slowly breathed out a controlled line of smoke away from him. “Your presence here will confuse authorities when they try to unravel what happens tomorrow. The Festival, the opening of the power plant, leaked emails, the shutdown of LumériCo’s systems- they are all pieces of a puzzle. The robbery is a piece that won’t fit, an extra piece that they will desperately try to work into the plan, twisting and turning to make it work. But it won’t and that might be enough doubt to keep them from answering the questions they need answered.”

“Suppose that’s smart.” Hog remarked. “Authorities have never quite known what to make of us.”

The blunt dangled from her fingers enticingly. The smell of weed clinging to the air around them reminded him of his old ALF days, bringing back pangs of nostalgia he didn’t know he could feel. A joint shared between friends before lowering their masks and raiding an Omnic encampment or passed in a meeting where they were full of anger, frustration and determination, the need to provide a future for their homeland. The smell of it always brought him back to those moments. Roadhog let the better of his impulsiveness get to him as he snatched the joint from Sombra’s fingers, pushed his mask up and took a long draw. Her smiling eyes told him she might have been luring him into it. He exhaled, closing his eyes, the buzz warming down his arms to his fingers faster than he expected. 

“Shit’s fuckin’ strong, Sombra.” The skunky taste clung to his mouth and he washed it back with a beer someone left on a nearby table.

She snorted at him. “Probably compared to the ditch weed you got in the Outback. What was that like? Puffing on a clump of dried grass?”

“When you live in a ditch, all weed is ditch weed. You try not to be picky.”

Sombra laughed, half-amused, half-pitying and chugged the rest of the abandoned beer Hog had picked up.

“I’m picturing you and Rat hotboxing yourselves in the middle of an Outback summer and it’s cracking me up.”

“We’re not that dumb.” Maybe not in the Outback, but there was photographic evidence of them hotboxing themselves in other parts of the world.

“Hey, Hog.” Rat’s voice cut through the music. Junkrat trotted out of the crowd towards him, holding his fake arm. “Can ya fix me up?”

Hog held out his hand for the damaged arm. It was easy to tell when Rat fucked up his gear by the way he self-consciously picked at the wires and joints. Rat could fix his arm on his own, maybe not as well in his inebriated state, but asking Hog for help was his convoluted way of offering an apology for snapping early. Rat plopped the arm into his bodyguard’s hand, revealing the panels that had bent and popped open.

“I was showin’ ‘em how to do the shoppin’ cart,” Rat scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “They were lovin’ it an’ I got a little excited.”

“How?” Hog didn’t even really want the answer. It was mostly for note in his mental records of the stupidest ways Rat’s hurt himself. Hog rifled around in Rat’s sidebag and found a small screwdriver. He gently twisted each part back into its proper place on his arm. 

“Well ya know the best part? When ya unbuckle the baby from that top part of yer cart and ya put it on the shelf an’ walk away? I got real excited when that was comin’ up and I tripped on my peg and had ta catch myself.”

“You’re high.”

“Maaaaybe.” Rat giggled, taking the back of Roadhog’s head in his only working hand and pulling it against his forehead. “Thanks for always takin’ care of me, Roadie.”

Hog tilted his head up from his work to meet Rat’s eyes, so full of sickening affection. He smiled behind his mask, hoping Rat couldn’t see it. A couple extra screws in place, Hog popped the last piece into position and tucked the screwdriver back into Rat’s bag.

“Thanks, mate!” He flexed his orange fingers a couple times, now just noticing Sombra sitting beside Hog with a look of amusement on her face. “Sombra! Didn’t see ya there!”

“Course you didn’t.” She chuckled. “You two are in a world of your own sometimes. Oh Luciana!” Sombra grabbed the arm of a woman with a blue floral skeletal pattern on her face and intricate flowers down her arms, whispering something to her in Spanish. A smile grew across Luciana’s lips and she hooked arms with Junkrat, pulling Rat away from the comfort of his bodyguard.

“Bye, Hog! I don’t know where I’m goin’ but I’ll be havin’ a molotov cocktail throwin’ contest later on the roof. You could probably win.”

Junkrat and the blue skeleton skipped away, disappearing into the crowd.

“Where’s she taking him?” Hog turned to Sombra.

“You’ll see.” She winked at him. “You’re next.”

He gave her a grunt laced with apprehension and skepticism, not that she would have been able to interpret the intricate subtleties of Hog’s grunted responses, like his partner could.

“Can I ask you something personal, Hog?”

Probably Roadhog’s least favorite string of words together, but he gave a snort, allowing her to interpret that as she wanted.

“You lost people when the Omnium exploded, didn’t you? Close friends, family?”

Hog sighed. “You’ve got the list in your Mako Rutledge file, I’m sure.”

“Si, but I phrased it as a question to gauge how open you would be to talk about it.”

“Not very, but I see we’ve already started.”

“You’re not easy to read. That’s frustrating.” Sombra talked with her hands, flicking her fingers open and closed, summoning little balls of light to manipulate as she formed her thoughts. “Now I’m not calling Junkrat simple, but he just lays his life right out there for you to take a look at. But you… you got that damn mask to pack it all away behind.”

Despite the comfort these inebriants brought him, he felt his mood growing sour the more she prodded at him. While Sombra was a new face to them, she had been observing them, researching them, monitoring their devices for months, if not years. She had convinced them she was trustworthy despite all that, enough that he could push down how intensely creepy that was.

“Do you have a question or are you just thinking outloud?”

Sombra laughed, taking another draw. “You care about him. He’s the first person you’ve cared about since the Omnium?”

“Sure.”

Hog craned his neck, attempting to spot Rat and Luciana across the dance floor, see where she had taken him. Junkrat was being passed around on his back, his head lolling back with his tongue out while Luciana waited patiently to the side for him to finish. He waved with both hands when he noticed his bodyguard looking at him. At least he’s-

“At least he’s safe, right?” Sombra interrupted his thoughts. This was starting to piss him off. How was she in his head? “But that’s what’s strange to me. You care about his well-being, but you put yourselves in danger in such deadly, moronic ways.” She cocked her head at him. “Why?”

Moronic? Hog was about to feel offended by her choice of the word but there really was no denying it.

“Don’t really have a choice.”

“You have free will, don’t you?” Arm propped against his shoulder, Sombra relit the blunt.

“It’s a compulsion. Junkrat talks a big game about suits and inequality and revenge… there’s some truth to it. But the truth is we can’t stop. Just like how I don’t think you could stop, even if you wanted to, even if you got in way over your head.” He rubbed his hands under his mask, lifting the leather off his sweaty face. “It’s a high stronger than any drug. You chase it, you need it. Rat and I bonded over that, it’s part of who we are.” Roadhog sighed, hating that the drugs and the booze and his general emotional vulnerability were making him spill his feelings to the one person who could probably manipulate them against him the best. “When he’s with me, I know he’s safe.”

“That’s sweet, Hog. Estúpido, but sweet. You know that.”

“Why’s that, wise all-knowing Sombra?”

She poked his snout. “Because you know how the people you love can get hurt, even when they’re right there in front of you.”

He snatched her blunt out of her hand and finished it off with a long drag that sent him into a coughing fit. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He wheezed out, securing a Hogdrogen canister in his mask and breathing in.

“Don’t cut me off before I get to my point.” She said, picking up his discarded Hogdrogen canister and flipping it over in her hands a few times, examining the label.

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“My point is that you’re walking a weird line right now. You’re heavily invested in his safety while being the one who’s putting him in danger. You know you could stop him.” Hog scoffed at her, shaking his head. She crossed her arms defiantly on her chest. “ You know it’s the truth. He trusts you. If tomorrow you decided to retire to pinche Rarotongo, he’d do it. Might be miserable, but he’d do it. You just don’t want to.” She put her finger up to reassure him her point was coming. “All I’m saying is that this… mayhem, this reign of terror may be working for you now, but it’s not sustainable. You steal, murder, fight, struggle until you are killed or you choose to retire. Those are your two options. Unless you are open to door number 3.”

Ah, so finally she had gotten to whatever convoluted point she was trying to make. Roadhog waved her on.

“Have you and Rat ever considered finding a… what’s the word?” Her long fingernails trailed down her chin in thought. “A patron. That’s the best way I can put it.”

“Hmm,” Roadhog thought back, memories returning of exploding skyscrapers and the last suit they tried to work for. “Tried goin’ legit. Didn’t work out for us.”

“How ‘bout a patron who was not ‘legit’? You’ve heard of Talon?” A wry grin grew on her face as she summoned up several screens with photos of Talon operatives: Reaper, Widowmaker, Doomfist. Terrorists, mercenaries, all around frightening bunch of bad guy tryhards. Yeah, he’d heard of them. Seen their faces across the various channels they scoured while looking for news about themselves.

“Sure. Always causing drama somewhere.” There had been no quantifiable goal to their violence, as far as he had seen. Drama was the best word for it.

“I work for Talon. They provide me with the protection, funds and access I need to do things like this, aiding the people of Dorado through Los Muertos. I think people like you and your Rat fall in line with Talon’s vision for the world.” She waved smoke away from her face. “I don’t have the authority to make you any sort of official offer right now, but if you decide you want to go that route, I can get you on the fast track. Talon could use you.”

Hog considered it, what that would mean for himself and Junkrat. The security of an organization sure offered its perks, but a lot of good that did him last time. They had a much better track record on their own, weren’t dead yet.

“You don’t have to say anything now.” She said, cutting him off from giving a straight up ‘hell no’. “This is an open and ongoing offer. If you decide maybe you two are up for a change down the road, you can let me know.”

He grunted, then added ‘thanks.’ It was refreshing to come upon someone with a little faith in them.

A small light popped up in the corner of one of the screens, catching Sombra’s attention. Narrowing her eyes, she tapped for a moment before dismissing the screens with a wave.

“I have to go take care of some business. You two will be alright?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Hog felt the stupor of the weed getting to him.

“Oh here’s Luciana,” Sombra said, clapping her hands and standing up. “I’ll let her work her magic.”

Sombra motioned her hand down her body, becoming completely invisible as she ran off into the crowd. Roadhog shook his head. He hoped Junkrat would give him a grenade to the head if he ever became that ostentatious. Wait, he wasn’t like that already, was he? No, no, the mask wasn’t ostentatious.

“Roadhog?” The blue skeleton woman from earlier shyly approached him, clasping a few small tubes nervously in her hands. “Sombra told me to paint you.”

“Paint me?”

“Si, like-” She gestured in a circle to her own face and pointed to the tubes. “She said… she said you must.”

Roadhog snorted at her, folding his hands on his belly and leaning back. “I must?”

The floral skeleton nodded, gaining confidence despite not speaking her native language with a giant pig man. He had to admire her courage.

“Alright.” This must have been why Sombra had her drag Junkrat off. He had to do it. Junkrat would give him so much shit if he said no. Would prattle on and on about how it’s dumb that Hog insists they try the culture until it’s something that makes him uncomfortable. He couldn’t give the Rat that satisfaction. “Yellow.”

“Bueno.”

She was just about to drop onto his lap and start painting on his mask when he held his hands out to stop her. He pulled the bandana out of his pocket, pushed up the mask and tied it over his nose and mouth, allowing him the freedom to pull off the mask. She took it with a smile, placing the massive thing across her legs.

“This will wash off, right?” Hog asked as she worked, not sure if he wanted to look like a cartoon skeleton forever.

“Si si.” Luciana took a dab of the yellow paint on her finger and began tracing around the leather. Lines for the skull’s grinning teeth were drawn over the snout. She then outlined the eyes in yellow, adding flecks of pink to resemble flower petals on the forehead and around the cheeks and jaw. The details she was able to create in this medium were impressive.

“Good?” She asked, pointing the mask towards him. Hog gave a grunt of approval and held his hand out.

“One more.” The blue skeleton pinched out a dollop of red paint and rubbed it between her fingers. Hog leaned his head way back when he saw she was coming at him with her outstretched hands. She motioned to his hair. “Like your friend!”

Maybe it was the drugs or the alcohol or a brain tumor, but Hog just nodded his head and let the stranger come at his beautiful silver hair with a hand full of red paint. She stroked the ends of his ponytail, leaving a trail like burning embers.

“Gracias,” Hog said, the Spanish still awkward from his mouth, as she produced a hand mirror for him. Damn, he had to admit this was a good look. Not that the terrifying leather pig’s mask needed anything to make it creepier, but the skeletal outline created a different look, something a little more gritty. Maybe he and Rat should retire after all, join up with the gang. He thanked Luciana, who smiled sweetly and danced off into the crowd.

“Hooley alla fucking dooley, Hoggy.”

Roadhog blinked up at his partner. If it hadn’t been for his distinctive voice, Hog might not have recognized him at first. His proud chest now bore bright red skeletal markings of Los Muertos. The red paint traced his ribcage, bones reached down his arms and outlined his eyes, nose, and cheeks. Luciana paid special attention to his most distinctive feature: red teeth covered his lips in a grotesque grin. His hair, normally separated into three areas where the balding dictated, was slicked up into a three-pronged mohawk and tipped with red paint, like Hog’s. She hadn’t given him floral patterns, as she did herself and Roadhog, but focused more on the lines and angles of his body.

“Ya like it?” Rat spun in a circle in front of him. “I love what she did to you.” He put his hands on Hog’s masked cheeks, smearing the paint with his thumbs.

“You fit right in here,” Roadhog said. He gripped the back of Rat’s thighs, bringing his hands up beneath the fabric of his shorts. “Los Muertos looks good on you.”

Junkrat bit his lip, leaning against Hog’s hands. “Come dance with me.”

Roadhog spat out a laugh.

“Roadieee, c’mon.”

“This is your scene. I’m fine right here watching.” Hog’s fingers traveled upwards, kneading and pressing into Junkrat’s flesh, pinching where the curve of his ass began. Rat let out a small moan, lurching forward and resting his forehead against Hog’s.

“Ya tryin’ ta finger me in public, Hoggy?”

“Mmm.” His finger pushed between his cheeks and Rat let out a strangled squeak, wrapping his arms around Hog’s neck, pulling him close. The smell of him- sweat, paint, grime, booze, drugs encircled Hog, intoxicating him. Nothing else existed: no party, no mass of dancing skeletons, no Sombra, no Dorado. Just Junkrat with his wide-eyed skeletal face close to his. A metallic clang rang out, the sound of Rat’s fake hand making a move for his crotch.

“Damnit, Hoggy. Why do you gotta wear the dick cage? Makes my life difficult.”

“It’s to protect myself from unwanted advances.”

Rat laughed, his teeth lighting up in the darkness. “Ya don’t need a dick cage for that, Hoggo. Look atcha. Yer one fearsome lookin’ cunt.”

Roadhog shook his head, pushing his finger in to get another groan from Rat. “You’d be surprised. I traveled with a man for months in the Outback. Got too comfortable, slept one night without the dick cage. It was like he was watching… waiting for me to let my guard down.”

Rat frown in concern. “Why didn’t ya tell me ‘bout this?”

“That night,” Hog said, voice deadly serious. “He jus’ pressed up behind me, I could feel his hard cock against my back and he stuck his hands down my pants. No permission whatsoever, no prompting. The dick cage would have protected me.”

“Wait a tick…”

“He squeezed my cock and said to me,” Roadhog put on his best over-the-top obnoxious Junkrat voice impression. “‘Ain’t ya jus’ the ‘ole bloody Hog, mate?’”

Rat smacked Hog upside his face. “That was me, ya dumb cunt! Ya had me goin’ there!”

Roadhog bellowed out a laughter, genuine in his amusement at his own joke. He withdrew his hands from Rat’s shorts and straightened out his companion, who whined.

“I’m surprised you remembered.” Hog said, giving a squeeze to the back of his legs before letting him go and sitting back.

“‘Course I remember the first time I ever touched Hoggy Jr. Now the next few months where we tried to get ‘im fittin’ in me… that’s a bit more of a blur. Speakin' of which," Junkrat snatched up Roadhog’s dropping hand and returned it to his ass. "C'mon, everyone else here is doin' it. We're in this dark corner all alone, jus’ me and Hoggy, jus’ a little high and a little drunk and a lot horny."

Roadhog gazed up at Junkrat, drinking in the sight of him, wild, glowing red, sharp angles. He wanted to bottle this essence of him up, give it a good sniff, get high off it. He took a deep breath. He would regret not fucking Los Muertos Junkrat, the tightness against his dick cage warned him as much.

A click, a snap, and the dropping of the license plate lit a fire in Junkrat's eyes. Rat produced his trusty lube (thanks, Sombra, for returning that) and passed it over to him, slipping his shorts down around his knees. Hog lubed up his finger and returned it to its place between Rat’s cheeks, letting him lower down on it at his own pace. Rat seemed a bit shakier than normal, gripping onto Hog’s shoulders for safety as he pushed down. Even as Rat attempted to bite back the moan, it was lewd and loud, catching the attention of multiple people nearby who took a few good seconds to puzzle over the sight of the two coupling freaks before returning to their own business. Rat scrambled to unzip Hog’s pants the rest of the way, freeing his cock and eagerly working his lubed fingers around it.

Sliding onto his lap, Rat lowered himself up and down Hog’s finger as he pumped Hog’s cock. The lights and the darkness playing against his pale skin and red markings made him a skeletal god among skeletal mortals, a beautiful, writhing, vision of lust sent from hell to reward him for a lifetime of wickedness. Rat could have dragged Hog straight to hell, he would have gladly gone. Cold metal and warm flesh pressed against Hog’s skin as he wrapped his arms around Roadhog’s neck.

“I love ya, Roadie.” He groaned as he rolled his hips, sliding deliciously on Hog’s finger. “I want ya in me for real. I want ya in me now.”

“Not now. Just like this.” He hated it too, hated that he couldn’t give in to his demands, but nothing would take them out of this heated moment faster than Hog’s dick would without an ample amount of preparation, more than they had the time or the patience to do. This would have to be enough. Reaching down, Hog closed his fingers around Rat’s cock, pumping him slowly.

“I wanna be with ya, Roadie. Want ya to fuck me every day, want to wake up with yer arms around me, want to blow the whole world up for you.”

Definitely ecstasy, Hog thought. He knew it the moment Rat slid up on him. Didn’t decrease the meaning of the sentiment, but it sure explained his intensity.

“You’re very high.”

“Hush, stop talkin’.” Junkrat pushed his bone finger against Hog’s snout. “Ya always gotta... ruin moments with yer dumb words to… ahhnn... make yerself feel less vulnerable.”

Damn if that wasn’t true. Roadhog rested his head against Junkrat’s chest, closing his eyes and letting Junkrat dictate their rhythm, feeling the pounding of Rat’s heart in his ears and the tightening and pulsing of his insides around his finger. His pace hadn’t picked up at all, which was unusual for Junkrat. Normally at this point, he’d be riding Hog like he was trying to break some sort of speed record. But nope, just smooth, slow, gentle motions, up and down. Hog tried to urge him on by pumping him quicker but he didn’t seem to be having it.

“Roadieee, why are ya rushin’ me?”

“We can’t do this forever.”

“Who says?”

“The laws of biology and physics.”

“Pssh, who needs ‘em.”

“Come on. Let me help you along.” Roadhog lifted his head from Junkrat’s chest, pushing up his mask up over his mouth.

Junkrat’s lips eagerly met his and together they increased their pace, moving against the music and the lights and the drumming of their pulses. Hog came first into Rat’s hand, overcome by the gleaming, sweating incubus above him. Rat followed shortly after, aided on by Hog’s unfiltered moan, collapsing against his partner’s chest. A minute passed of the shared closeness that came with orgasm before Roadhog pulled his finger out of Rat. A small groan left Junkrat, but otherwise he remained unmoving.

“You wanna go home now?” Roadhog asked, maybe a little too much hopefulness in his voice.

“Nah, not yet.” He lifted his head, unsticking it from Hog’s chest, leaving a bit of red paint behind. “My friends Luis and Iván wanted me to get in one more round of cocktail shotput before I left.” Rat stretched, cracking his back and wiping his cum-covered hand on Hog’s pants. “One dance?”

“You wore me out. Go on without me.”

Junkrat pulled his shorts back up, arranging himself. “So you don’t mind all those hot skeleton ladies and gents rubbing up against me?”

“The more the better.”

“All right,” Rat said, twirling Hog’s ponytail in his fingers. “But jus’ know, every dick and tit I squeeze, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout yers.”

Rat left him and danced back to his gaggle, shimmying his hips and waving those gangly arms in the air. Somehow he made it work with that weirdly tall body and his uncultured sense of rhythm. The Los Muertos members around him adapted to his style, jumping, grinding, writhing in time with the Junker and the music.

Roadhog took a deep breath, tucking himself back into his pants. He could see Rat right there on the dance floor, no need to worry about him at all. Even if he couldn’t see him, Hog didn’t need to see Rat at all times. He was twenty-five fucking years old. He could be alone for a minute. Hog could allow himself to have a minute here to close his eyes. Alcohol, weed and sex were the unholy trifecta of things to put him to sleep and he found it hard to resist the temptation, even with all the activity around him. Just a couple minutes’ rest, then he could… do whatever else you’re supposed to do at a party you don’t want to be at. No one would even know with the mask on...

“Roadhog!”

Luciana’s voice jolted him awake. Everything pulsed and buzzed as he tried to focus on her. His mouth was really fucking dry. The party had died down considerably, music turned down with mostly people shooting up one more time. How long had he been out?

“Junkrat is with Luis… they’re doing something bad.”

That sobered Hog up. Luciana reporting that they were going to do something very stupid was a bad sign, considering their earlier efforts to hurl molotov cocktails into nearby boats off the roof. Stupider than that?

“Where? What?”

“Outside.” She gestured wildly to the door.

Roadhog was on his feet in an instant, charging out the warehouse door. Morning was just beginning to break, the sky a deep purple making way for the light. A ways down the dock he could see Junkrat the red, smeared skeleton, siddling himself up on a motorcycle behind an orange skeleton man in the early morning light.

“Don’t fucking move!” Hog bellowed at the driver.

The heavily inebriated cyclist entered fight or flight mode at the sound of Hog’s booming voice and the sight of the giant sprinting towards them. He revved the engine to life and sped off down the dock, swerving dangerously.

Roadhog didn’t think, just reacted, pulling his hook from his back and throwing it towards the speeding bike. He had to aim this just right, pull them precisely to avoid serious injuries. The rusted hook sailed after them, sinking its teeth into the back tire of the bike. Hog yanked hard to the right. Good news and bad news for Junkrat and his new friend. The bad news was the sudden change of direction tossed them from the bike completely. The good news was that the dock bent right where they came to a halt and the pull of Hog’s hook sent the two of them off the side and into the water, rather than on the pavement or the splintering dock. The two skeletons struck the water, sending up a wave over the dock. While his Los Muertos companion easily navigated over to the edge to pull himself up, Junkrat flailed in the cold morning ocean. That’s right, he couldn’t swim. Roadhog sprinted as fast as his body allowed up to the edge of the dock, dropping his hook back by the ruined bike.

“Grab my hand, Rat.” He leaned over until he was just a couple feet out of Junkrat’s reach. “I’m right here.”

The sound of Hog’s voice seemed to stabilize Rat as he propelled his way towards him. His two hands gripped onto Hog’s and his bodyguard easily hauled him out of the water. Hog fought every impulse to wrap Junkrat up in his arms, hold him against his warmth. Instead he dropped the wet Rat on his ass on the wooden dock.

“What the fuck was that?” He roared, leaning into Rat’s space. “The fuck were you going to do?”

“Luis and I…” Rat hugged himself for warmth as the morning breeze poured down from the city. “We were gonna find Portero… Luis knew where his place was. Gonna take care of it now, pick him up, rough him up, set him right, solve all these pissshit problems.” His speech was slurred, eyes bloodshot and having a hard time focusing up on Roadhog.

“You didn’t listen to me, Rat!” Hog’s fists clenched as he dropped to his knees in front of his charge. “Why the fuck didn’t you listen to me?”

“Listen to ya wot?” Rat was dazed, his twitching exacerbated by the cold water clinging to his body.

“When I told you not to go on a bloody bender!”

Luis shifted uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye, looking like he was going to make a break for it, rather than witness this uncomfortable confrontation and face potential consequences himself. Hog snapped his head towards him and pointed a finger to the ground, ordering him to stay put. He obliged.

“And I told you-” Junkrat jabbed a finger back at Hog’s chest, wavering unsteadily. “That yer not my dad! I hired ya to protect me, not control me!”

“Yes, protect you, you fuckwit. Protect you from your own fucking idiotic attempts to stick yourself in a grave earlier than the one you already dug for yourself!” Hog couldn’t control his own shaking now, rage boiling out of him. “Kidnap Portero? Actively foiling plans that Sombra has had in the making for years? Destroying our whole purpose in being here? And that’s not even what was going to happen. What was going to happen was you and…” Roadhog glared at the orange skeleton whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. “You and Dicksap over here would crash the fucking bike before you even got a hundred feet away. And then I’d be picking up fucking pieces of you and sending it back to Oz to be buried by yourself in a ditch. Is that what you wanted?”

Junkrat winced and crawled back from Roadhog, hugging his knees. For a moment it looked like he was going to respond, but then instead he rolled onto his side, fingers tapping at the wooden dock.

“What did he have?” Hog’s ire turned to Luis.

“Uhh, look I dunno.” He put his hands up defensively, looking again for an escape route. “It was mostly Iván giving him shit all night. You’d have to ask-” Hog’s hand snapped out and closed around Luis’ neck, giving it a squeeze. He squeaked out “Lots of tequila, pot, E, some wet-”

Roadhog tightened his grip on the man’s neck. “Does this look like a man who can handle PCP?”

Luis’ eyes rolled back as he gasped for air. “Told us… told us he’d...hnghh... done it plenty.”

Hog’s eyes narrowed and he pushed his snout into the man’s face. “I’m not going to kill you, but know that’s only because I don’t want this to come back to Sombra. I don’t know where she ran off to, but if she gets wind of this, I will find you and wring your neck until your eyes pop out of your skull and then I’ll take those eyes and stuff them up a new hole I make next to your anus. Is that clear?”

He nodded frantically, scratching at Hog’s unclenching grasp. Roadhog threw him down onto the ground and he scrambled up the alleyway as fast as he could. A small giggle came from Junkrat, shivering beside him on the ground. The sight of him there, soaked, shaking, half out-of-his mind, subdued the rage within Roadhog.

“They told me… told me they thought I was already coked up, what with the shakin’ an’ all.” Roadhog scooped Junkrat up, holding him against his shoulder. He could feel Junkrat try to press as much of his body against his skin as possible for warmth. “I told ‘em... issa lil drug called rad poisonin’. One bloke was so daft… thought rad was a drug I had… wanted some.” Rat spat out a laugh.

Hog grunted, finding a couple partiers passed out on a nearby bench and unceremoniously rolling one of them out of his jacket. The man was too far gone to even wake up from his clothes being stolen. Hog threw it over Junkrat’s shoulders, wrapping him up for warmth.

“One of these days, I’m just gonna leave you for good, Rat.”

“I’ll probably deserve it.” Rat’s metal hand rhythmically danced across Hog’s chest. “Until then… thanks for stayin’.”

“I’d like to have that recorded.” Hog scoffed, hiking Rat up on his shoulder as he began the slow trudge back to their hideout. “Play it back for you when you’re being an insufferable asshole.”

“Heh.” Rat tried to focus up on Roadhog, heavily blinking his eyes. When he failed, he squeezed them shut, pressing his cheek against Hog’s pec. “Ya’d just be playin’ it for me on loop then, yeah?”

Hog snorted but fell silent, nothing but the creaking of the dock under his boots in the quiet morning. Rat had to fill the silence.

“Am I… gonna get better?”

“Couple hours rest, lots of water, one of those magic sober up tablets, you’ll be fine.” Despite the permanent damage radiation and the other Outback elements had inflicted on Junkrat’s body, he was naturally adept at passing toxins through his system, never stayed hungover for long.

“Ahh. Good.” From his deepened breathing, for a moment Hog thought Rat had drifted off, but then he lifted his head again. “I like your mask like this.” The skull paint still adorned his leather face. “Gonna keep it that way?”

“No. You know we’re not actually part of Los Muertos, right, Rat?”

“Maybe ya weren’t invited. I got meself an official Los Muertos ass tat. Means I’m part of the gang.”

Roadhog stopped dead in his tracks, fighting the urge to dump Rat into the ocean and be done with him right then and there. The buildup of Rat’s giggle was a slow boil but eventually he belted out his trademark Junkrat laugh at him. Relief washed over Hog at the realization that his charge had not in fact gotten a back alley, unsanitary ass tattoo as part of a Mexican gang initiation.

“Had ya goin’, I did.” Rat said, quite pleased with himself, despite being bleary eyed and drooling.

Another bout of silence. Hog could see their own abandoned warehouse home at the end of the next pier.

“We almost there, Hoggy?”

“Yes.”

“Am I gonna be able to do the heist?”

“Yes.”

“Are ya mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Will ya forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“No.”

“Well.” Rat tucked his hands around Hog’s bicep, holding on and keeping him close. “When yer ready to forgive me, know I’m an idiot and I’m sorry and I love ya.”

A sigh escaped the filters of his mask. That was the best he was going to get. There was never going to be a greater admission of guilt, an overall acceptance that Roadhog did know what was best for him, no decision to change his pattern of behavior. Rat would probably not remember any of this. He’d bound awake at 6:00pm, bright-eyed and ready to take on the world again. Ready to make the same old mistakes, ready to make some brand fucking new ones. Guess that was life with Junkrat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a second fic in the same timeline as this one: [Tea on the Run](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11434236/chapters/25621974). It features Junkrat's tea review videos that Sombra referenced in the first Dorado chapter. I wanted to write something lighter and goofier that will provide additional context to their relationship in this fic.
> 
> I've finally started a tumblr where I'm posting fics, Roadrat, etc. Come chat with me about Roadrat! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Edit: Hattedhedgehog made an amazing fanart of the Junkers in their Los Muertos getup. [Take a look!](http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/163958435347/i-was-so-excited-that-the-junkers-got-a-makeover/)
> 
> Thanks to VolatileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra has an impromptu meeting and Junkrat gets relationship advice from an unlikely source.

Present Day 

Lights from her screens illuminated Sombra’s face in the darkness as she sat cross-legged in bed. She had tried, like she tried every night, not to take her work to bed with her. Some idiot once told her that looking at screens in the hour before bed gives you a poor night’s rest. Not that she bought into it, but she did try to give herself a little space between work and immediately passing out. Her sprawling system of monitors and hardware covered two walls of her room, a constant dull buzz and purple light emanating out from them. Even when the mastermind herself rested, they chugged on, delving and digging, both weaving and unweaving her webs.

Of all things, it was a glorified pet project that kept her up. The Junkers were certainly not high on the list of importance of all her projects, not when she was interfering in Spanish elections or twisting the arm of a powerful Russian CEO. But she found it impossible to ignore the Junkers or leave them to their own devices even after she had done her part. They were her friends. After the onset of their unlikely partnership in Dorado, Roadhog would send her pictures of the two of them to the encrypted server she set up for communication. He’d write small descriptions of what they were doing, would wish her well. Her favorites were the ones Roadhog titled “Places Junkrat shouldn’t be”: Junkrat hanging off a gargoyle at Notre Dame, Junkrat touching Sunflowers at the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam, Junkrat crouching and making obscene gestures in the grass in some park where it said “keep off the grass.” It always made her smile to see the little (1) unread message from Roadhog.

It was going as well as it could with Junkrat, she supposed. Recovering from serious injuries would never be easy, especially when you throw in experimental drugs to rid the body of radiation poisoning. It was unfortunate that Rat was so adamant about being present when they bailed Roadhog out. He could use his partner’s support in getting through this next leg of his recovery. Now all of support would have to come from her and a couple disinterested doctors. She had never considered herself to be “supportive friend” material. Not that she had had a regular life with regular friends, but she would consider herself more of a “where do I bury the body” type of friend versus a “shoulder to cry on”.

She scanned the prison layout screen one last time. Roadhog was still in his cell where he was supposed to be. Handing Rat a tablet with access to Roadhog’s cell feed had successfully motivated him to move out of his moping/depressed phase and into his “I must recover so I can kick his ass” phase but not quite sending him into the “I miss him so much just get him back now” phase as she had hoped. Roadhog was fine, that much she was sure of. Even without all her surveillance, she had people on the inside of that system to look out for him, pass small amounts of information on to him and report back to her.

Once the casts came off, everything would start to fall into place. They could plan the breakout in earnest, Rat could move on his own accord, scrap again, jerk off in private again. Everyone would be happier.

Giving one final frustrated groan, she shut down her programs, putting them on a thirty minute timeout so she wouldn’t be tempted to turn them back on. She considered forcing herself to close her eyes and will herself to sleep but she knew her mind would continue racing. She slid into her pajama pants and a worn pair of slippers and left the familiar hum of her room behind.

Living quarters were shared in theory, but she rarely saw most other Talon agents. Like her, they had homes other places, but stayed in their Talon home away from home when their missions called for it. One exception was the blue-haired beauty sitting on the couch in the common space, crocheting a bright swath of yarn. Her thick hair had been let out of its high ponytail, cascading down on her shoulders. Widow was a fixture of this place, like a blue, pouty mascot, rarely seen to leave Talon HQ.

“My spider queen,” Sombra said as she approached the common room. “Crocheting? A little on the nose, no?”

“I’ve crocheted since I was a little girl,” Widow muttered, barely glancing up from her stitches. “I haven’t been known as ‘Widow’ as long.”

“Still.” Sombra plopped onto the couch beside her, dropping her feet across Widow’s lap and on the colorful strands of yarn. “What are you making there?”

Widow tugged the finished portion out from under Sombra’s legs with a sigh, but didn’t push her away. Her long fingers trailed down the stitches. “It’s nothing. Stress relief, sleep aid. I pull it apart when I’m done.”

Sombra threw her hand over her mouth, scandalized. “All that hard work? You pull it apart? Why not gift it to someone?”

“You’re not new around here, Sombra. You know these people are not the knitwear type.” She shrugged hooking in and out of the yarn. “I don’t blame them, it is an horrible fashion choice.”

“You know who would love something? Someone who doesn’t care about fashion?” Sombra grinned and elbowed her. She had to seize every opportunity to normalize Junkrat's presence in this organization. They were a tight-knit bunch, not always eager to let others into the fold.

Widow squinted in thought for a moment, all the various Talon agents cycling through her head before she realized what Sombra was getting at.

“Ah, your pet Rat.”

“I’m just saying he would appreciate it. He has no one here but me and I’m not the greatest company. It would be a nice gesture.”

“What would I even make him? The man wears no clothes.” Widow held up the rectangle of finished stitching, squinting and grimacing like she was trying to imagine it covering up Junkrat’s junk.

“I’m sure you can think of something. He wouldn’t even have to know it’s from you.”

Widow resumed her work with a sigh, leading Sombra to believe that she must have convinced her.

“Good to see you ladies are still staying up till the early hours of the morning.” A warm voice came from the opening to the hallway.

Sombra threw her head back towards the source of the voice. Akande Ogundimu, better known as Doomfist, leaned against the threshold of the door. His smile grew when she made eye contact with him. Doomfist was always a welcome sight, with his regal handsomeness and calming presence. Many had called him the charismatic face of Talon and they weren’t wrong. There was something immediately likeable Akande, despite the terrifying figure he cut.

“Akande!” Sombra scrambled off the couch, catching Widow’s current crochet project in her feet and sending it sailing. “Think fast!”

She hurled her translocator at him, giving him only a moment to blink and catch it. His reflexes were fast and he snatched it out of the air, placing it on his shoulder. She activated the beacon and reappeared perched on his shoulder, throwing her arms around his neck.

“We did it!” She exclaimed, hugging his head. “I think that’s the first time we’ve gotten that to work.”

“I think so.” He pat her on the back, lowering her down to earth. “Most of the time you end up throwing it long.”

“Or maybe most of the time you’re bad at catching. It’s not surprising. It’s gotta be hard to have a good reaction time with that fist.”

Akande flexed the Doomfist instinctively. “It reacts faster than you’d think. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be wearing it now.” He dropped down onto the couch, arm around Widow.

“Akande.” Something like a smile appeared on her face.

“Amélie.” He smiled over at her, squeezing her shoulder fondly. “You look well.”

“As is expected. How long have you been in South Africa? Three months now?”

“About that long,” Doomfist replied, stretching his feet out on the table. “I’m afraid my work there is not done, but I have some small amount of time to be back here with my favorite people." Doomfist turned his attention back to the hacker. “I have a confession. I was doing the narcissistic thing of Googling myself the other day..”

“Of course,” Sombra nodded and slid onto the couch arm beside him. “Who hasn’t?”

“I came across a video of a recent encounter between myself and Helix Security forces in Soweto. I was quite impressed with myself if I do say so.”

“Do you want to pull it up so we can critique it?” Widow asked, gesturing to the large flat video panel on the wall.

“No, no, not at all. I noticed something strange though… every single comment read “Doomfist Me Daddy.”

A loud, squawking cackle rang out of Sombra (god, had she always laughed this way or had she picked it up from Junkrat?) and she had to steady herself against his arm to keep from dropping off the couch. The faintest hint of a smile slid across Widow’s face before she beat it back to grimace at her unraveling crochet.

“Then I checked the other videos of myself.” Doomfist held up a finger to continue. “Same thing. Every article that had been published mentioning my name since February, same inane comment over and over again. At first, this puzzled me. The Doomfist and its masters have existed for years. Why now would people just start making that joke?” Sombra hid her mouth behind her fist, stifling back her outburst. “Why is it that I, the third Doomfist, would be subject to endless mantra of ‘Doomfist Me Daddy’? Why wouldn’t my successors have suffered the same fate?”

“Because you’re the hottest Doomfist?” Sombra offered.

He glared at her, enough to frighten most people, but just sent Sombra back into her fit of laughter. “It’s because none of my predecessors were close personal friends with a professional internet troll with never-ending armies of bots to command.”

She feigned offense with her hand pressed to her chest. “How dare you accuse me of such childish-”

“You called me in to show me when you set it up.” Widow remarked without missing a beat.

“Damnit, Amélie.”

Doomfist chuckled and ran his hand across his shaven head. “You’re a technological genius, yet the things you spend your time doing…”

“Nah,” Sombra waved him off. “The whole bot army took me about 3 minutes to set up. Three minutes for a lifetime of fun and entertainment.”

“You should hear what she actually spends her time on," Widow remarked, trying to undo the damage Sombra inflicted on her crochet project. “Playing relationship counselor to an unstable Junker and his long distance, life-term serving ex-boyfriend.”

Doomfist blinked a couple times, trying to process this. “Ah, that criminal duo? I hear word they were joining Talon’s team in some capacity a while back but I was a bit preoccupied with my business in South Africa to pay much attention.”

“Don’t call them exes, Widow.” Sombra grimaced at her. “You could say they’re on a break.”

Widow rolled her eyes, giving a knowing side-eye to Doomfist.

“Junkrat is here in our facilities.” Sombra continued. “The smaller one of the two? Explosives expert?”

“It rings a bell,” Doomfist said.

“Rat is recovering from multiple broken limbs. He’s miserable, angsty, sees his partner as having betrayed him for sticking him here. He likes me though, and the other operatives he’s met, just not the doctors. Really hates doctors. We are waiting on Junkrat’s recovery to bail Hog out of prison.”

“You know, if you needed help-”

“Si si, you could punch your way into and out of the prison. We’re all still very impressed.”

He dropped his head against the back of the couch, pretending to be downtrodden at the rejection.

“Unfortunately, I think this has to be a Rat thing. He needs a bit of empowering. I could use your help with something else though,” Sombra decided to take the opportunity, prodding him in the side. “You could go meet him, talk to him. He could use some human contact that’s not me or his doctors.”

“Don’t ask Akande to suffer like that,” Widow said, valiantly coming to Doomfist’s rescue.

“No no,” Doomfist held up his hands. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Sombra. They call me the charismatic one in this organization for a reason.” He cracked his knuckles. “Gotta use every opportunity to prove I’m a better people person than Gabe.”

“This is Sombra’s longest con to date.” Widow added, standing up and stretching, her ballerina grace not gone or forgotten. “She wants the Rat’s treasure.”

Sombra reached out a slipper pushing on the back of Widow’s knees, making her buckle back. “First of all, querida, it’s not my longest con. I have cons still going on that I started as a child, so let’s just get that straight. Secondly, I don’t just want his treasure. He is my friend and I want what’s best for him.” She picked at her nails a bit. “And if what’s best for him happens to coincide with him handing over the treasure...” She shrugged, weighing the two options equally in her open hands.

“And Reaper…” Doomfist said slowly. “Is okay with you just taking it?”

“Course he is, he’s getting the treasure. Which reminds me...” Sombra considered bringing visual aids up to her screens for a moment before dismissing them. “When you go talk to him, I could use your persuasive abilities to broach the sensitive subject of the treasure with him.”

“Oh?” Both Doomfist and Widow raised eyebrows at this.

“Isn’t this contrary to your entire ‘take it slow’ plan?” Widow asked.

“I’m the one taking it slow. Doesn’t mean everyone else around me is. Honestly, it would seems more suspicious not to mention it,” she continued. “He’s famous for this treasure throughout the world and an organization like ours gets ahold of him and no one mentions it?”

Doomfist nodded in agreement. “You want me to open the door, to prime him and make him aware of Talon’s interest in it. And you can look like the considerate friend who puts his needs above all else.”

“Si si. In an ideal world, I would be asking Reaper to do this, not you, but he lacks the tact and patience to not start banging Rat’s head against the wall when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Give him a little more credit,” Widow said, coming to Reaper’s defence. “He’s not that impulsive.”

“No, but he really hates Junkrat. Hasn’t even introduced himself yet. I think it’s the voice. It is hard to get used to.”

“I understand,” Doomfist said, nodding along with the two of them. “I know what I have to do.”

“You just have to be careful with him. It'll be best right now to ask him about where the treasure is rather than what it is. We want to make sure it's not sitting in some police evidence locker right now.” It never failed to unnerve Sombra, allowing others into her plan at any stage. So much room for things to blow up in her face, even if she wasn’t going to fully indulge her plans. “He’s probably feeling vulnerable right now, unable to defend himself. He could shut down or lash out if he feels threatened.”

A wide smile crossed Doomfist’s face. “Sombra, you know how disarming I can be.”

“Ooo, just like that.” Sombra clapped her hands together. “Puns are great with him.”

“Well, one thing is for sure,” Widow said, stretching down and touching her toes. “You will already have a *leg* up on him.”

They blinked at her, taking a moment to process what appeared to be a rare joke from Widow. Once thought to be extinct, Widow jokes, though not the most groundbreaking, were too rare to go unappreciated. In the shock of it, they almost forgot to laugh. Doomfist and Sombra exchanged a quick panicked glance, then doubled over laughing.

“Ah!” Sombra howled, slapping the arm of the couch. “A pun! Because Junkrat has only one leg and Akande has two!”

Doomfist joined Sombra in smacking the side of the couch with glee.

“This is the last time I ever try to make a joke in front of you two.” Widow discarded her crochet in a heap on the table and trudged off to bed.

***

To say Junkrat was antsy didn’t even come close to covering it. Weeks of being bed-bound took a toll on his already fragile psyche. Despite Dr. Schiller reassuring him that the radiation drugs were helping, his twitching and shaking hadn’t decreased at all. He lay awake for much of the night, fingers raking and scratching on the sheets and down to the mattress, trying in some way to release his excess energy. He used to tinker when this happened, spend hours and hours fixing, tweeting, inventing new creations. It helped focus the chattering in his brain, quieted his own endlessly babbling thoughts. But he couldn’t do that in this state and it was driving him madder and madder.

The main problem was the casts. They had long overstayed their welcome, his pain melting away into perpetual itching. The closer he got the their removal date, the less willing his nurses were to dig around in them to fish out the various implements he lost. Everyone involved- Junkrat, Sombra, Dr. Schiller, all the nurses, doctors- counted down the days until he could get those casts off and he could start the process of returning to his own faculties.

Tomorrow was that day, after weeks of slow recovery. Tomorrow the casts would come off and he could be Junkrat again. He could soon walk again, scrap again, jerk off with his real hand again. Over and over, Dr. Schiller reminded him of the importance of being dedicated to physical therapy in order to return to his old lifestyle. Six weeks, she told him. Six weeks of hard work and dedication to recovery. Most of his lean muscles had atrophied away and needed work to build up again. He’d met with the disgruntled Talon physical therapist who promised him with little amusement that he would whip Junkrat back into shape or Rat would die in the process. Harsh hand, but it was probably what he needed.

Rat rested in a beat-up wheelchair (that had been brand new when they brought it in the room originally). He was in the process of tearing apart and braiding the scratchy blanket across his lap when he heard the door opened.

“Look, Sombra!” Rat scrambled to assemble his creation, tying the strip behind his head. The braided fabric hung down in front of his chin like a beautiful dwarven beard. “Could never quite grow one with all the radiation so I-”

He finally brought his eyes up to see it wasn’t Sombra standing in his doorway. Doomfist towered his way through the threshold, ducking slightly to get in. The man was well over 7 feet tall with the chiseled strength and handsome face that would make a Greek god envious. Rat had seen him before, seen his face plastered on posters, on the internet, on TV. The man was a legend. Rightfully so.

“Junkrat,” Doomfist offered a smile that warmed his entire intimidating figure.

“Hooley dooley, I wasn’t expectin’ this.” Rat giggled nervously, tugging off his beard masterpiece and splaying it over his lap. He really needed to start wearing clothes again. “Yer… uhhh… Doomfist, eh?” The sudden sheepishness in his voice was humiliating, but god, look at him, how could Rat even call himself a man when there was a man who looked like that roaming around the world.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Doomfist, Akande, whatever you prefer.”

“When one of yer names is fuckin’ ‘Doomfist’, don’t expect anyone ta call ya anything else. Tha’s the best name I’ve ever heard.”

“You’d be surprised. Some people prefer Akande.” Doomfist searched around the room for a seat that could accommodate him. The cheap chairs Sombra had often been exiled to sleep in were probably not going to fit him very well so he opted to lean against the wall near Rat’s parked wheelchair.

“Hoggy has the same problem,” Rat remarked, seeing his failed attempt at finding comfortable seating. “Not that yer big in the same way. I mean, he’s real fat and tall and yer jus’ real tall and broad and buff.” Rat’s racing mind reminded him of the double meaning of the word “big” and insisted he double back. “Not that yer not ‘big’ in that way, I have no idea, I’ve never seen yer dick before but I have seen Hoggy’s and mate let me tell ya it’s borderline freakshow big so I understand the struggle if that’s yer situation.”

Junkrat’s brain caught up to his mouth and his horror read clearly on his face as he twisted his mouth into a grimace. He needed to quickly say something or else Doomfist would feel obligated to respond to Junkrat’s inquiries about how much he was packing.

“So, uh, whatcha doin’ here in my room?”

Through the whole tangent, Doomfist just observed him, smiling, nodding slightly, not speaking.

“Sombra requested I speak with you. I recently returned from South Africa and she was filling me in on some of her projects since I’ve been gone. As one of Talon’s leaders, it’s only fitting that I meet promising new recruits such as yourself.”

“Not so much promising goin’ on here,” Rat wiggled his casts, feverishly rubbing at the outside of the cast when the movement triggered that incessant itch.

“Sombra tells me you’re getting those off tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up. “Tha’s right! I am so fuckin’ excited. First step to bein’ out of this shithole.”

“I heard about your new scrapyard. It’s quite a feat with all the mindless regulations we have in this building. Sombra’s a good friend.”

“Yeah…” Rat scratched at the back of his head. “She’s done a lot for me. ‘Cept she didn’t give me an arm like yers.” He motioned to Doomfist’s arm, a hint of sourness in his voice. “Talon gave me that one.”

Junkrat jabbed a thumb at the fleshy fake arm lay on the ground, poking out halfway under the bed. Doomfist strode over and pulled it out, holding it like a tiny doll’s arm in his hand.

“Talon didn’t give me the Fist.” He squatted down next to Junkrat. “I took it. I know you believe in that, Junkrat, taking the things you want. You can’t expect everything you want to just be handed to you.”

“‘Handed to you.’” Rat giggled, shooting a finger gun at him. “Good one.”

Doomfist sighed at the unintentional pun. “Now-” He flipped the arm over, examining the attachments. “What don’t you like about this arm? Looks state-of-the-art to me.”

“I don’t like the squishiness. ‘S gross. My old arm was the best. Lemme find a picture.”

Rat pulled the tablet out from under his ass, wiping it off on his chest, which only further smudged the screen. He clicked on the photo gallery, remembering back to old photos Sombra had unloaded from her server of him and Hog on their world tour (that woman sure was persistent in her efforts to guilt him). What Rat forgot was the few dozen attempts at sexy recovery pictures he had taken of himself in the past few weeks, which were now front and center in his gallery he was presenting to Doomfist. Fueled by both the spiteful desire to document his trauma for his bodyguard and the nagging lust that still consumed him, the photos were… creative to say the least: Junkrat with his casted legs spread, trying to look enticing but actually looking pained, Junkrat attempting to part his hospital gown around his ass, Junkrat sucking on the prosthetic fingers. It didn’t really work as sexy, but it sure drove home the miserable, pathetic recovery angle.

Once these were already in front of Doomfist, he didn’t have any room to be shy. “Well… here’s my asshole, didn’t plan on showin’ ya that jus’ yet… usually wait till after ya buy me dinner, but here ya go!” He kept scrolling and scrolling past the waves of peaked Rat ass. Doomfist let out a snort, perhaps a pity laugh, and scratched the bridge of his nose. He turned his eyes to the side out of politeness.

“Here we go! Sorry ‘bout that, mate.” Junkrat pushed the screen under his nose, showing him a photo of himself with his foot braced against a bridge adorned with Love Locks, attempting to pull one off. “Look at me arm.” Junkrat pointed to the bright orange prosthetic clasped in a life-or-death struggle with Rinaldo and Margarita’s love padlock.

“Hmm,” Doomfist hummed, examining it. He squeezed the prosthetic in his hands, feeling beneath the surface. “I’m sure there’s something similar to that acting as the bones for this one.”

“I know…” Rat took the tablet back, flipping to through the next few photos of himself and Hog on that stupid love bridge before returning to the home screen. “I wanna rip it open but I don’t have anything sharp enough. Nurse wouldn’t give me anything.”

“Do you mind?” Doomfist asked, pulling a knife out from his belt and showing where he could make an incision in the prosthetic.

“Sure!”

Rat huddled in close as he watched Doomfist slide the blade carefully around the edge, then making a long slit up the center of the arm, stopping at the wrist. He peeled aside the fake flesh to reveal wires and black, metallic bones not unlike his long-lost prosthetic.

“What do you think? Take it all the way off?”

“Hell yeah! That’ll look aces.”

“All right,” The knife carved back into the flesh. “I make no guarantees about how well this will work afterwards.”

“I’ll tell Dr. Schiller to bill it to ya.”

They sat together for a moment, both focusing intensely on the delicate work being done to the arm. Rat cursed himself for not cleaning the cum off the thing, but with all the other dirt stuck to it, maybe Doomfist wouldn’t notice.

Doomfist was the first to break the silence. “Talk to me about Roadhog and your plans to break him out of prison.”

“Okay.” Deep breaths, don’t get fucking emotional here in front of motherfucking Doomfist of all people. Don’t start crying about Hog, he’s not worth it. “Quickie version, I know ya haven’t been around for a couple months so ya might not have heard all the drama.”

“You’re trying to downplay your near-death experience.” Doomfist said matter-of-factly, not looking up from his work.

“No, I’m… maybe.” Rat shifted in his seat, knowing his downturned expression was betraying him. “I almost died, Hoggy gave himself up to save me, made a deal with Sombra to take us into Talon, but Hoggy’s still in prison and we’re gonna bail him out but we can’t until I’m better.” Rat scrunched his nose, sure he was forgetting something. “Oh and I’m mad at him and I hate him.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“‘Cause I didn’t want this,” He waved up and down his broken body. “I told ‘im to let me die an save himself if this happened. I don’t got a lot of years left on me, whether Hoggy wants to believe it or not. Don’t want to spend them tryin’ to regain my ability to function, wanted to go out in a huge blaze of glory. He didn’t do what I told him, had some pissfuck plan all along to work with Sombra, but he never told me about it. So that’s why I’m mad at him.”

The wrap of flesh around bones of the prosthetic fell to the floor. Just the hand and the fingers were left to be striped.

“Good.”

“Good?” Rat cocked his head at Doomfist.

“Conflict makes us stronger. It makes humanity stronger, as I’m sure you’re aware now that you’re working for us. And this conflict will serve to make your relationship stronger.” Doomfist carved the knife up the skin of the palm. “If the two of you have the ability to work through this, you’ll be stronger for it.”

“Really?” Rat was skeptical. It seemed like one of those platitudes that felt right, but really made no sense, but the way Doomfist nodded and reassured him made him consider it.

“Be angry at him. When you get him back, take that anger out on him, let him take his out on you. Then figure out if you can move on together stronger or apart as broken men.”

Rat found himself nodding along. Sounded exactly like what he was planning to do anyway. The skin of the palm and back of the hand came free. Just the fingers left.

“Are ya gonna help us bust into the prison?” Rat asked, hopefulness coloring his voice. “Gotta be easier than bustin’ out, right?”

A wry smile crossed his face. “You don’t need my help. I’ve heard you’re quite the explosives expert. You’ll have no trouble getting in. I’m sure I would feel useless in comparison.”

A burn crept up Rat’s cheeks. He knew Doomfist was playing him, buttering him up for something, but he didn’t care.

“All done.” Doomfist held out the arm to Junkrat. It gleamed with the adhesive that held the skin to the metal bones, but it was perfect. All he had to do was tuck a couple wires back and sure up some of the panels and he’d be in business with a high-functioning, jet black prosthetic courtesy of Talon.

“Ah shit, mate! I love it!” He was about to connect the nodes to his stump when he hesitated. “Sure ya don’t want to trade fists, seein’ how nice this one is? Last chance?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I am satisfied with my current model.” Doomfist flexed the gauntlet.

“Okay.” Rat pressed the end to his stump, feeling it prickle as it connected. “I was jus’ kiddin’. That wasn’t yer last chance. If at anytime ya wanna switch, jus’ give me a call.”

“Will do.” The big man remained crouched next to Junkrat, staring off with his eyes narrowed. “I have to ask you something, Junkrat.”

Metal fingers flexing to life, Rat tilted his head towards him, noting the slight change of tone. “Sure, mate.”

“Sombra… she’d be upset with me if she knew I was asking you this, but in my position as a leader of this organization, I have to ask these questions.”

Rat chewed on one of the new fingers nervously, but nodded for him to go on.

“You’re famous worldwide, not just for the heists and the mayhem and the murders. The treasure from the Omnium. Bounty hunters across the world have sought you for it.”

Junkrat’s throat went dry and scratchy, wide eyes betraying his sudden panic at this topic. Doomfist recognized the expression and held up his hand, the non-Doomfisted one.

“There’s no need to give me that expression.” A warm smile on his face, a purposeful look to calm Rat. “I’m not here to take anything from you. You lost so much in your accident- your partner, your mobility, gear, your arm, your leg. If your treasure was among those things, we want to help you get it back.”

Junkrat studied him for a good long moment. Of course, he knew eventually these questions would come. You don’t get to be a part of an organization, especially one like Talon, and keep your secrets.

“I… uh…” He tugged at his hair, running his fingers through it until strands fell out. “It’s back in Oz. Thought that would be the safest place for it with Roadie and I heading out into the wide world.”

“Ah,” said Doomfist, a hint of disbelief on his voice. “Junkrat, we only want to help you. With all the time and money we’ve put into your recovery, you should know that by now.”

“Maybe ya’ve put all this time and money into me to get the treasure in the first place.”

“How long have you been here? A month, at least? There are much more efficient ways of getting information out of people than nursing them back from the brink of death and providing them with cutting edge treatment.”

“True.” Rat had to admit, it would not be the most direct way of going about it. But he couldn’t trust anyone. Not Doomfist or Reaper or Sombra or… Roadie. “It’s in Oz. It’s safe.”

“Good. If that ever changes and you feel you would like Talon to protect what is yours, please let us know,” Doomfist replied with some finality, rising to his feet. “Tomorrow you get your casts off and you’ll be starting physical therapy. I hope you will put as much care and effort into your recovery as you do your scrapping and your building.”

“I sure will,” Rat replied. “Don’t wanna be stuck like this forever. Gotta get these arms workin’ again so I can punch Roadie right in his ugly mug.”

“I suppose that’s the spirit.” Doomfist glanced down at the flashing on his tablet and sighed. “I’m afraid I must take care of other business. Talon never rests, but you should.”

“Thanks, mate. I… appreciate ya stoppin’ by.”

“Good night, Junkrat.”

With that, Doomfist left him alone in that dreaded room.

Rat wheeled himself over to the sink and soaked the scraps of the blanket in the water. Carefully, he wiped down his new arm. It was so much more tolerable this way, no more unsettling faux-skin. As he did this, he couldn’t take his eyes off the tablet Sombra gave him, the one with the window into Roadhog’s cell. It had become a crutch for him over the past few weeks, one he couldn’t set aside. Just woke up in the morning? Gotta go see if Hoggy’s awake, if he’s sleepin’ okay without his Hogdrogen machine. Finished lunch? Let’s see if Roadhog’s eating. About to jerk it, currently jerking it, just finished jerking it? Better see if Hog’s giving any good visual here. 90% of the time Hog was lying in his bed, reading, sleeping, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally Rat would pop in on a good masturbatory sess. Moments like that, catching Hog when he was vulnerable like that fueled his addiction. Even rarer than that would be when he would pop in when Hog was out of his cell entirely. It took Rat a while to realize he had an hour per day, usually from 1:00-2:30pm, where he was allowed to be out of his cell. The terror Rat felt the first, second, third, fourth times he checked in to find Hog missing was immense. Each time, he screamed at the nurses to find Sombra, demanding she fix the feed. It wasn’t until Hog lumbered back into view that Rat calmed down. He demanded to know what they were doing to him and didn’t buy Sombra’s evidence-based theory that he was on his hour of rec time. To Junkrat if he wasn’t in his cell, they had taken him away to experiment on him. Nevermind that he came back looking clean and freshly showered. They probably hosed him off after they were done fillin’ him with chemicals.

He continued to grapple with the urge to turn on the feed as he dried off the cleaned arm. Damn it looked slick. There was no way he could be convinced it was better than his old one, but this eased him into accepting its loss. Rat hoisted himself into bed, dropping the tablet onto his lap. His willpower gave him another ten seconds of resistance before he turned it on and pulled up the camera feed. There he was. Sleeping like a good Hog, breath coming in and out with some wavering. Not off being experimented on or ogled in the shower. Rat clicked his new fingers across the screen, tracing Hog’s familiar form.

“Getting my casts off tomorrow, Roadie.” His voice was quieter than normal, despite no one being around to hear. “Guess that means I’ll be able to come getcha soon...ish.” He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes quickly, as if chasing away the tears as soon as they formed would make them stop coming. “I’m sorry yer still there. I coulda told Sombra and Window to get ya ages ago but I wanted to do it myself. I told ‘em I had ta do it myself, only I should rescue Hoggy, like a pride thing. But now the closer I get, the more I realize I’m jus’ scared. Scared to face ya again, scared we have to work through this, scared we won’t be able to.”

Junkrat blew his nose on his blanket and shifted the snot part off to the side.

“So that’s why we’re in limbo, Hoggy. I gotta get better, which I may point out is yer fault, and I gotta want to be out of limbo. Doomfist said conflict makes ya stronger. Maybe he’s right…” Junkrat gnawed on his lower lip, considering the words further. “But boy that does sound like a load of bullshit, don’t it? Like something yer abusive husband would say to keep ya from leavin’ him?”

Rat lifted the tablet up over his face, smiling fondly at the screen.

“Remember my tea review vids? It’s been a tick, hasn’t it? When did I make the last one, Geneva? I can’t remember.” As if his memory was not damaged enough, much of the time before the accident had been lost in the trauma. “I can tell ya how it went: ‘Hi, name’s Junkrat, here’s some tea, here’s my bodyguard, he don’t want to talk but he’s gonna anyway, I’m gonna spit some boba at his face, ‘kay, good night, we’re gonna fuck now.’” Rat giggled against his chewed up pillowcase. “Wonder if we’ll ever do one again. Probably not, it’ll feel weird.”

A few beats of silence passed. It was almost like Hog was in the room with him with the lack of answers he received to half his questions.

“Six weeks…” Rat mused aloud, chewing absent-mindedly on the edge of the tablet. “Six weeks and I should be walkin’ on my own again.” He tapped on the screen, pulling up the calendar. “It’s never too early to start plannin’ to plan.”

Somewhere else in Talon HQ, Widow’s and Sombra’s screens both dinged with a new invitation.

_MEETING OF THE COMMITTEE TO RESCUE PIGFACE AKA OPERATION SWINE TIME REQUIRED MEETING IN RAT’S SCRAPYARD ATTENDANCE REQUIRED NO EXCEPTIONS PLEASE COME_

Both women separately flirted with the idea of smacking the “No, I will not attend” button, but in the end, they sighed and figured by the time the date rolled around a month from now, they would be more mentally prepared to deal with whatever Rat had planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited for where this fic is about to go. I hope you are too! Your feedback is always appreciated! Your comments have really inspired me to keep going with this fic.
> 
> Hattedhedgehog made an amazing fanart of the Junkers in their Los Muertos getup from the last chapter. Seriously, this shit is amazing. [Take a look!](http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/163958435347/i-was-so-excited-that-the-junkers-got-a-makeover/)
> 
> If you're interested in Junkrat's tea review series check out [Tea on the Run](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11434236/chapters/25621974)!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more Roadrat! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat begins to recover and reveals his plan.

And then the casts were gone, rolled out of the room by two men practically wearing hazmat suits, off to the securest of all secure waste disposals at Talon HQ. The things reeked once they were cut from Rat’s body, so much so that Sombra, despite her efforts to stay with Rat and be a supportive friend, had to leave the room to go breath in the hallway. Rat, however was not deterred, immediately throwing his freed legs over the side of the bed.

“Well, mates,” he said, making deliberate eye contact with Dr. Schiller and the nurses. “It’s been bloody real. Be sure to write, see ya never.”

Junkrat stood up, putting all his weight onto his single fragile leg, and came crashing down to the floor in a heap of tangled blankets and hospital gown. Dr. Schiller strode over, not bending to help him up.

“The nurses and I had a bet if you would do that despite the countless warnings we’ve given you not to put weight on your leg right away. Unfortunately everyone bet that you would do it, so no money’s going to exchange hands.”

“Oohh right,” Rat groaned, peeling his face off the floor. “Weak legs. I’m like a mermaid jus’ given the gift of walkin’ without flippers.”

“Something like that.” Dr. Schiller motioned for the two nurses to hoist Junkrat back up, dropping his ass on the bed. She paced back and forth in front of him, running through the information on her tablet. “You’ve met with your physical therapist already and have your plan all set-”

“Physical Terrorist,” Junkrat corrected her with a raised finger.

“You can’t call him that.”

“I can, I will and I have,” Rat said, kicking his legs out in front of him, rubbing his hands up and down them. It was an amazing feeling the cool air reaching them for the first time in weeks, not caring who he was wafting the stench at.

Picking her battles, Dr. Schiller moved on. “I’d like you to remain in here for at least a week. I despise the thought of you moving into that atrocity of a scrapyard. That place is a hellhole for someone attempting physical recovery. So many things to trip on, you could rebreak your leg, you could try to catch yourself with your arm and rebreak that. It should not be inhabited by anyone, let alone a person in your condition.”

“The more you talk about it, the more I want to go there now,” Junkrat said, his eyes burning with a rekindled excitement.

“Give us at least one more week here, your therapist will even come to your room. He won’t be coming to the scrapyard, I’ll promise you that.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try,” Rat said cautiously. “But ya know the old sayin’, right, doc?”

“No…” She said, hesitantly making eye contact.

“Ya can take the boy out of the scrapyard, but ya can’t take the scrapyard out of the boy… ‘cause he stuck a 9-inch ratcheting screwdriver up his ass.” Junkrat threw his head back in a howl, pounding on the bed.

“I can tell that one was more for your own benefit than anyone’s,” Dr. Schiller remarked, unamused as she tried to check off the last things on her list.

“Oh c’mon! It’s funny! I’m funny.”

“I’m going to say this one more time, Mr. Fawkes… Junkrat.” The use of his preferred name snapped his wavering attention to her. “You have to be dedicated to physical therapy and recovery. Your radiation treatment goes along with that. It’s your fulltime job. Any planning or scrapping or joke writing is secondary. Listen to everything your therapist says, do the exercises, the stretches, even if you don’t see the use in them. Can I get a nod that you understand?”

Junkrat gave a slow nod up and down, eyes trained on hers. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

“Good.” She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He jumped a bit at the contact, not used to it from her. “I’m proud of the work you’ve done so far. Don’t undo it all by being an idiot.”

“I would never!”

“Okay, the nurses are going to wash you off. Let us know if you have any questions. Your therapist should be here in the next hour.”

Money did actually change hands in regards to the bet on how long it would take Junkrat to abandon the hospital room and hole up in the scrapyard. Those who picked half a day were handsomely rewarded. He let the nurses wash him down like a stray cat just plucked off the street, sat through his daily rad treatment injection. He stuck around long enough to listen to his physical therapist babble on about safety and even let him stretch Rat’s legs out. But after that, Rat considered all his appointments met. With the nurses out of the room, he took up the nearby pair of crutches and slowly and uncertainly traversed into the hallway. The scraproom was pretty far from here, wasn’t it? He remembered a left and a right and a straight and another straight, on and on until he was completely upside-down. At the end of the next hallway, he spotted a flash of purple and called out to it.

“Hey you!” Rat hobbled towards Sombra as she turned the corner, his crutches clicking against the floor.

She peered back around the corner at him. “I’d appreciate not being called ‘you’.”

“Ya left me earlier!” He shouted at her, waving a crutch for emphasis.

“Sorry, love, but no one pays me to put up with that stank.”

“Well now I’m lost,” he said, catching up beside her. “Tryin’ ta get to the scrapyard.”

“C’mon,” she motioned for him to follow. “Even though I shouldn’t be taking you there. Dr. Schiller will try to fine me again.”

“Thanks, mate.” He tried to keep up with her, but found out how easily winded he was after being bedbound for so long. He slowed down, pretending his armpits ached from the crutches, rubbing them. “While I have ya here-” He thrust forward a crumpled sheet of paper. “I need some things and I made a list. You'll get 'em for me?”

“Alright, Rat, hand it over.” She said, scanning the list.

“Lemme ask ya this,” Junkrat said, adjusting against his crutches. “Our gear, mine and Hoggy’s. Are we gonna get it back? ‘Cause that’ll change what I need ta prioritize here.”

She bit her lip in thought, pausing her typing. “We can probably arrange that- a break in to the Geneva police station. It’s been on our radar. It’ll have to be after we get Roadhog. Right now, only some fringe news sources are raising questions about where Jamison Fawkes is currently being held. For obvious reasons, the Swiss police are reluctant to admit you were stolen out from under their noses. No major news network has picked up the story.”

“Maybe we oughta give ‘em a story,” Rat sneered.

“In good time,” Sombra reassured him. “But for now, if you’re not on anyone’s radar, the better chance we have at surprising them when we break Hog out of jail.” She continued scanning down the list. “Fairly standard for what I was expecting to get you up and building again. Talon will provide a small budget for your needs. Let’s see…” She summoned up her screens, running her non-typing finger down the page. “You have about a dozen different types of tires listed here. Don’t you think you can just take some off vehicles in the room?”

“It’s for RIP-Tire 2.0!” He waved his arms in the air, mimicking its explosions. “Ya can’t just use bottom of the barrel, shit-tier tires for RIP-Tire 2.0!”

“Would Outback Junkrat have used whatever tires he found?”

“Yes…” Rat said, rolling his eyes. “But Outback Rat had the entire outback to scavenge. Talon Rat only has a couple thousand sq feet to find what he needs.” He hadn’t realized how weird it would feel to call himself Talon Rat. It made his stomach churn a little.

“Fine,” Sombra relented, like she knew she was going to from the beginning, typing it onto her list. “Though you’re not getting all of these. You actually wrote ‘tyre from that car in that old spy movie Roadie and I watched when we were baked in Phoenix.’ You know I have no idea what that means.”

“The car had guns coming out of the tires!! How can ya beat that?!” Junkrat shook his head in disbelief. “What was that movie… weren’t ya spyin’ on me and Roadie all the time? Shouldn’t you know?”

She picked at her cybernetics, irritated. “Okay, moving on to more shit I’m not going to buy you. There’s a lot of chemicals on this list. I don’t know what all of them do, but I hope you do and I trust you’re not making me get shit that’s going to bring down the fucking headquarters.”

“Oh it’ll all be dangerous,” Rat beamed at her, putting all his weight on his crutches and lifting his foot in the air. “But in the hands of a professional like me, only an average of 2 limbs will be lost. I’m kidding-” he reached out to shake her when she sighed loudly. “Most of it is to make new Hogdrogen. Roadie taught me how.”

“Right, that yellow stuff he’s always huffing. I _have_ spied on enough of your tea videos to know. All right, the rest of this looks good, that’s a lot of coffee and paperclips, but-” Her voice abruptly cut short and she shot a look up at Junkrat.

“Wha'?” Rat asked with feigned innocence but a blush traveled up his cheeks, unhidden without his layers of grime. He knew what that look meant.

“Butt plugs and lube?” She said, folding the sheet against her. “So you are planning on making up with a certain Hog! Thinking ahead,” she said, tapping her forehead, “Smart.”

“What! No, ya don't know what yer talkin’ about.” Rat hoisted up his shorts on his bony hips and shifted uncomfortably against his crutches. “Lube and plugs can be used for solo play as well, if ya needed that info, ya perv. 'Sides, maybe someone else has made me an offer.”

Sombra snorted, ushering him on to continue their walk. “Yeah? Reaper ask to stick his incorporeal dick in you?”

“Ya don’t know that he didn’t.” Rat said defiantly, wobbling for just a moment.

“This is sort of a personal thing to shop for. There’s different materials, shapes, plus a whole host of special features-”

A small light flashed on the edge of Sombra’s screen to indicate a new message: Junkrat has sent you a link. His icon in her system was still one from when he and Hog were on their world tour: Rat with his cheek pushed up against Hog’s mask, holding his nose up like a pig. Sombra scowled at him as she pressed on the link.

“There, it’s ordered.”

“Ta! Knew I could count on you.”

“Though maybe you should focus on training these?” She pinched his bicep. “Walking and lifting are going to be much more important than sticking things in your ass.”

“Ah, sheila,” Junkrat laughed, giving her a patronizing pat on the arm. “Ya think I can’t do both?”

One more turn and they approached the burnt smelling room with a hundred warning signs plastered across the door.

“I’m going to add clothing to this list,” Sombra said as they stopped outside the room. She narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down. “Dios mio, you have a strangely shaped body. No wonder you hardly wear clothes.”

“Mate, how would you feel if someone said that ‘bout you?” Rat asked, offended with his hands on his hips.

“If I was a 6.5 foot giant with a 20-inch waist, I would completely understand. Word of advice: if you look like the people around here, they will be more likely to help you. Right now, you look like a freak just spit out of the Outback. If you put on some dark clothes, comb your hair, you won’t stand out as much.”

“But I like standin’ out,” Rat said, looking down at his sad pair of shorts.

“Just trust me with this. Standing out isn’t always useful here. Me entiende? Understand?”

Rat gave a small grumble but nodded.

Something lit up on Sombra’s screen, drawing away her attention. She tuned into her screens for a few seconds before focusing back on Junkrat. “I’m going to be going away for a couple weeks. I should be back by our scheduled meeting. You’ll be okay,” she said without question, squeezing his shoulder. “I know you will be.”

“‘Course I will!” His faltering smile betrayed a hint of uncertainty and disappointment. “I jus’ need ta make sure I know how to send it to ya.”

“Send me what?” Sombra asked slowly with a cocked eyebrow.

“The Plan.” Now the smile returned back to maniacal.

“Ah,” Sombra nodded. “You can give it to Widow. She’ll make sure I get it while I’m away. Just… take care of yourself please. This is on you now.”

“Gotcha, mate. Don’t worry ‘bout me one bit while you’re off doing Sombra business. Not a second thought!”

And then there he went, limping and scurrying into the scrapyard, like Sombra’s disgusting, one-winged, mangy baby bird, leaving the nest and flying home.

***

Junkrat settled into a routine after leaving that hospital room, a routine that brought him down from the brinks of a mental break. Dr. Schiller had been right about his appetite. It reared up with a vengeance, demanding he make up for all those years of undereating. Each morning he whipped up a protein shake (a miracle first-world invention if you asked him, a meal with all the nutrition you need that you can pour down your throat in one gulp), dumped some coffee into it and started work in the scrapyard. Dozens of uncompleted projects greeted him at the start of the day, but never overwhelmed him. Build a new leg, better crutches, a RIP-Tire, grenade launcher and ammo, hooks for Roadhog, the list went on and on. He didn’t want to admit it, but a small amount of excitement lingered in his stomach at the thought of continued access to a workspace, time and money to create whatever projects sprung to his mind. After he finished rebuilding the life they used to have, he could push forward into new areas of invention and exploration. If Talon worked out.

After losing himself in his scrapping and creating for several hours, an alarm set off on his tablet. The first time an alarm on his tablet went off, Junkrat almost bashed the screen in with a wrench. Creeping over to the screaming device, he was able to see that someone had set an alarm to remind him to go to his daily physical therapy. Through the day, various alarms beeped from his tablet with friendly reminders of where to go and what exercises to do, when to eat. While he didn’t know who got in and messed with his settings, Rat had a strong feeling a certain hacker was a likely culprit. A small portion of Roadhog was replaced by the tablet bearing a close-up shot of his snout as the wallpaper. Instead of Roadhog’s growing voice, it was the nagging of the tablet keeping him on task. It helped him get by, adopt new habits and gain some much needed independence.

Rat gave himself thirty minutes to hobble through the hallways, making wrong turns, opening the wrong doors, asking confused Talon employees where his therapist’s office was. Eventually he would make it to his appointment, and he’d crouch outside the door waiting to be beckoned in, flipping through pages on his tablet. Sometimes he watched Roadhog in his cell. Sometimes he searched through old photos depicting the two younger versions of themselves, seemingly gloating in their happy ignorance of what the future would hold. Sometimes he opened up a sketch pad and crudely drew out new plans and schematics. He would occupy himself until his cold-eyed physical therapist opened the door and beckoned him inside.

Then came the “therapy” which in reality was Talon-sanctioned torture. The pain his therapist inflicted on him was unreal and unrelenting, pushing Rat to the brink of what his body could handle. But this wasn’t the worst pain he had ever suffered. He had lost two limbs already. Fixing up some broken limbs couldn’t be worse than getting used to life without them, right? If nothing else, his physical therapist gave him a set of goals and goals were excellent motivation, gave him reason wake up every morning, to prove to that dead-eyed Talon drone that he was not a worthless sack of shit.

After his daily physical therapy, Junkrat dragged himself to Dr. Schiller who pumped him full of his radiation treatment. He was through the worst of it, his side effects lessening as each day he grew stronger. While Dr. Schiller had Junkrat as a captive audience, she would lecture him about this way and that way he should be better taking care of himself. It wasn’t until a couple weeks into his recovery when positive physical changes became apparent on Junkrat’s body that she laid off him (still wanted him to cut back on the coffee and the pyromania).

Depending on how the radiation treatment hit him, sometime after his appointment with Dr. Schiller, he would throw down a quick and calorie-filled lunch before he would get back to building and planning. By the early hours in the evening, Junkrat would usually suffer his breakdown for the day, triggered by one of the day’s many mistakes: the shock from misstrung wire, stubbing one of his precious few toes, new pegleg failing and sending him tumbling to the ground. Thoroughly exhausted from therapy and pumped full of chemicals from radiation treatment, lonely and strung-thin, his fuse was particularly short.

He’d find a place, somewhere enclosed and comforting where he could ride it out, curled in the back of a burnt out truck or buried beneath cushions on the couch. God he despised it, how tears wracked his body, exacerbated his shivering, made him weak. All he could do was push through to the other side. His tablet provided a small measure of comfort, a game with colorful balls that flitted around the screen combining into larger balls. He’d flick his finger back and forth across the screen, finding the rhythm distracting and comforting. It didn’t take Junkrat long to come back to reality, refocus himself.

He worked himself late into the night, stopping only to pound a few more protein shakes and do his scheduled stretches and strengthening exercises. Sleep would only come when he was about to collapse from exhaustion and he’d tuck himself away with his back in a corner to rest for a few hours.

The early days of his recovery, loneliness proved to be his greatest challenge. Sombra being off on a mission added to the difficulty, but he knew even if she was here, she would not be able to address the core of his needs for companionship. For as much as she had done for him, even she had her limits, whereas Roadhog had spent 4+ non-stop years with Junkrat and had not yet taken a shotgun to his head. Junkrat had be alone before he met Hog, scraping by in the wasteland with nothing but his wits and his knack for trouble. He had been fine before. He wished he could go back to that, but once you have someone you can depend on, someone whose presence you come to rely on, someone you love, it is difficult to readjust.

And then, as things do with a lot of hard work and dedication, everything started coming together. Junkrat’s health dramatically improved. He had gained back the weight he lost, muscles filling out and cording with strength. Rat could only imagine what Hog would say when he saw him. The big man had made comments on Rat’s weight in the past, Junkrat usually turning them around into fat jokes made on Hog’s expense. With the new strength in his limbs, came more independence from his crutches. His breakdowns lessened each week, his shaking decreased and his focus improved.

The Plan soon manifested itself into something that was more than just a great name (Operations Swine Time). It was time he share his work with Sombra and Widow, a few days before their meeting. Junkrat sketched out a final outline of the plan on a sheet of paper, only needing to stop once to put out the fire that caught on the corner. Despite his selfish desire to have his own genius recognized, a small part of him looked forward to teaming up with the two Talon operatives on this, to hear their input and add to the plan if it left shortcomings. There would be little room for mistakes, not with Hoggy on the line.

The final touches added to his masterpiece, Junkrat pulled a black sweatshirt on and trotted out of his scrapyard, wondering if he was disguised enough to convince someone to point him to the location of Widow’s room.

***

A notification ding alerted the attention of several patrons in the National Library of Argentina to the young woman lurking in the corner with a hoodie pulled over her head. Sombra jolted, cursing herself for making an exception to her “absolutely no audible ringtones policy” for one Amélie Lacroix. The sniper had complained about not receiving prompt enough attention to her various complaints and somber selfies from one of her only friends, so Sombra relented and turned on the ding to appease her. But now here she was attempting to stalk a 70-year old Argentinian archaeology professor and instead flashed up a big “BEEN HERE ALL ALONG” signal. The damage already done, she pressed her finger to her cybernetic node and brought up a screen with a message.

Amélie: _Did you also get this?_  
Sombra: _your gonna have to be a lot more specific than that, cariño_  
Amélie: The Plan _from the Rat..._  
Sombra: _nothing from him_  
Amélie: _I will send you a picture..._  
Amélie: _He just pushed this under my door. It smells like burnt hair and depression..._

How many times had she told Amélie not to use so many damn ellipses? Another ding and the image filled her screen.

 

Amélie: …  
Amélie: _I have so many questions… is he going to blow up Roadhog? Are the red lines indicating that I’m getting sniped? How do we get out? Why is your face so round?_

This was so fucking Junkrat. She remembered planning with him in Dorado, how he liked to physically sketch out everything in the drafting phase. How many versions had they gone through, drawing on the backs of Calaveras napkins? Sombra shook her head, rubbing the growing headache away from her temples.

Sombra: _he nailed your expression. XD i’m sure this plan is not as questionable as it looks_  
Amélie: _I feel unclean just touching it..._  
Amélie: _Our meeting with him is in three days, you will be back?_  
Sombra: _trying my best_  
Amélie: _Please do… I don’t want to deal with him on my own…_  
Amélie: _And it’s boring here without you._

“Aww,” Sombra cooed, holding the tablet to her chest for a moment. “I do bring the excitement, don’t I?”

Sombra: _have you seen rat much since i’ve been gone?_  
Amélie: _No… except a few days ago he caught me in the hall and asked if I could teach him to swim…_  
Sombra: _did you??? i thought he was afraid to swim?_  
Amélie: _He was. I babysat him at the pool for about 30 minutes while he sat with his foot in the pool and refused to come in. Then I pushed him in._  
Sombra: _?!? some teacher you are._  
Amélie: _He got over it. Though after that I couldn’t get him to stop going into the deep end, even though he could barely swim._  
Amélie: …  
Amélie: _Every day I grow more and more anxious to meet this Roadhog fellow… he must have the patience of a saint._  
Sombra: _i promise you they are better together_  
Sombra: _thanks for helping him with that_  
Amélie: _… let’s hope they are..._  
Amélie: _I’m going to sleep now._  
Sombra: _sleep tight, ma crevette_  
Amélie: _I regret ever teaching you that._

Sombra cackled quietly to herself, closing down her screens. One problem at a time, she thought as she turned invisible and ran through the nearby “Staff Only” door after her prey.

***

Somewhere deep in Talon HQ, an exhausted Junker tinkered at his workbench, his heavy eyelids faltering as he screwed the cap on his fifth cannister of Hogdrogen. Well, off-brand Hogdrogen. It didn’t feel right to put Hog’s signature pig snout on it, so he etched his own smiley bomb logo instead. Might as well own his handiwork.

This scrapyard would do for now, though his exhausted mind could not shake the sensation of the walls closing in, trapping him here. It had been so long since he had seen the sky. He wondered if it was even still there as he lay down on the musty couch beside his work table. Just a couple minutes to rest his eyes as the paint dried. A couple minutes and he’d be back up to work.

_Junkrat perched in the loft of their Junkertown home, his legs dangling below him as he watched Roadhog dicing vegetables on the counter below._

_“Hoggy,” Rat chirped, throwing an empty can of beer at him. Roadhog ignored him, causing Rat to hurl another at his wide back. “Hoggy.” Still no response. “Hoggy Hoggy Hoggy Hoggy.” Finally, Roadhog cocked his head in the direction of Rat. “Help me down?” Junkrat glanced down to see both his legs were gone. “I seem to be a little short-legged.”_

_“You’re pathetic.”_

_“Now, Hoggy, I wouldn’t be sayin’ that to ya if ya lost both yer legs.”_

_“Have they realized it yet?” Roadhog turned back to his vegetables, slicing through them with slick thumps against the counter. “That you’re useless without me?”_

_“I’m not.” Junkrat balled his fist until his nails dug into his skin. “I’ve been fifty times more useful than yer fatass sittin’ away in a prison cell.”_

_One of Roadhog’s hands engulfed his thigh and he pulled him off the loft. Hog threw him onto the double bed like he was made of straw._

_“What’re gonna do, Hog?” Rat snarled, crawling back. “Ya gonna put me outta my misery? Ya couldn’t do it last time, what makes ya think ya can this time!”_

_Hog straddled Rat on the bed, gut pinning him as he ran his hand up Rat’s chest to rest firmly against his throat. The pressure increased, Rat vainly sucking in air, struggling against his grip. Desperately, he tried to connect with the eyes behind the mask, reaching his only hand up to claw at the edge of the mask. He could barely reach, struggling, thrashing, straining against him, his eyes losing focus as Hog’s face descended into blackness._

Junkrat jolted upright on the couch, sucking in a wavering breath. Where the fuck was he? Talon Scrapyard, he realized after a moment of wrapping his brain around his surroundings. Not in Junkertown, Roadhog wasn’t here strangling him. He traced the ghost of the sensation across his throat, unable to shake the familiarity, the sense of déjà vu it brought. He smacked a tired hand on his tablet to reveal the time: 4:17am. Time for another pot of coffee and to look at The Plan again, dream Roadhog be damned.

“Nice try, Dream Hog. Ya ain’t stoppin’ me now,” Rat said, delivering a kick to a sad prototype leather mask he had ditched under the workbench. “I’m gonna save ya and yer gonna like it. Yer gonna say ‘oh, Rat, how could I ever doubt ya! I’m gonna let ya take care of me forever and ever, never gonna question ya again.’”

Junkrat babbled on, as if any moment of silence would open the door for screaming thoughts and self-doubt. He had no time for that. No time at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed my attempt at a Dorado-style plan for this prison break. I’m not an artist, but fortunately neither is Junkrat! I may have almost set off the fire alarm when I set this thing on fire. If you guys like this one, I might do other visual things for other chapters as well. Gotta take advantage of the fact that we both have similarly atrocious handwriting.
> 
> Thank you all for your supportive comments! I really appreciate them and they keep me motivated to keep writing this fic!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more Roadrat! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat, Widow and Sombra work through a harebrained plan to rescue Roadhog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [copy](https://68.media.tumblr.com/454a2b5ecf8e917da2dd61be4e39ace5/tumblr_inline_ow3p9tIfUj1tnjyly_500.jpg) of the Operation Swinetime plan they'll be going over in this chapter for your viewing pleasure (sorry it's showing up a little small. It's bigger if you look at it in the previous chapter).

“I have no idea what to even expect,” Widow said as she strode up to the door to the scrapyard along side Sombra.

“I think the draft of the plan should have given you a clue,” Sombra said, scanning over the document on her screen. “Lots of boom, not a lot of finesse for their Talon debut.”

“You have a backup plan?” Widow asked, skepticism thick in her voice.

“Not a full fledged plan so to speak,” Sombra said with a shrug. “More like ideas I will try to work into his plan to give us a chance of getting out of there in one piece with the Pigman if possible.”

“This has the potential to top Krakow as the most ridiculous mission I have ever had with you or with Talon.”

“No one’s going to try to dress you in a swan costume again.” Sombra said, lifting her hand to the door and knocking.

“Swan would have been fine,” Widow leaned against the frame, glaring at Sombra. “If you’ll recall correctly, it was a duck costume and not a flattering one.”

“No costumes at all this time,” Sombra snickered, remembering Widow trying to grappling hook her way around in that outfit. Reaper sure had an imagination at times.

From the other side of the door, the sound of clinking and the stomp of a boot approached the door followed by the sound of several locks being unlatched. The door jerked open an inch as it caught on a chain and an orange eye peered out at them.

“Were ya followed?” Rat said, his voice low and raspy.

“Uh,” Sombra glanced around, peering down the long hallway. “Doesn’t look it.”

“Widow, do the thing.” A hand popped into view through the door crack, motioning like he was putting on glasses.

“Infra-sight?” Widow asked uncertain, as it was plain she wasn’t wear the recon visor.

“That. Yeah.”

“Rat, Widow didn’t bring-” Sombra started.

“Oh of course,” Widow cut her off, fishing a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket and popping them over her eyes. With an intensity of a well-trained stage performer, she pretended to scour the hallways and surrounding areas for unseen stalkers through the walls. “We’re clear, Rat.”

“Ta, come on in.” The door slammed, chain jangling as he worked to unlatch it.

“See,” Sombra said, smirking at her partner. “You’re already great with him.”

“Idiots are easy to read.”

“He’s not an-”

Rat flung open the door, placed hands on each of their shoulders and yanked them inside.

The scrapyard underwent quite a transformation since Rat took it over. The pieces of scrap and trash originally had been haphazardly placed around the room, no real rhyme or reason, just wherever the movers put them. Now everything seemed to have a place in the most organized chaotic way. Omnic body parts, while still in piles, were sorted by their usefulness, their components and their metallic makeup, some stripped of their parts already. Cars had been wheeled into position, a mini mech constructed to move them amount with ease. The two different work tables were filled with the typical disarray of Junkrat’s projects. Dozens of grenades lay in different states of completion, forming a little assembly line. Leaning against the wall beside his work table were at least ten prototypes for crutches. While his physical therapy was an ongoing process, he needed ways to get around that left his arms and hands free. Rat noticed Sombra’s interest in the various crutches and grinned, hiking up his shorts and sticking out a leg.

“What do ya think?” He had replaced his pegleg with a black, metal leg crafted from scrap, similar to the aesthetic of his new arm. Just like his last leg, the bottom was fashioned into the pointed peg he was used to. In addition to that, running up both legs were metal cage-like supports, hooked together in a ring around his small waist. He bobbed back and forth, showing how much freedom the extra support gave him.

“Wow,” Sombra said, admiring his handiwork. “You’ve been busy.”

“My Physical Terrorist told me not to rely on them. Gotta be strengthening the muscles without ‘em or else they’ll stay weak. But when I’m running around like I will be today, they’re perfect, don’t have to worry about keelin' over.”

“You’re looking strong, Rat.” The compliment came from Widow to the surprise of her two companions. “You’ve come a long way since I last saw you.”

“Mate, I do appreciate that,” Rat smiled that genuine smile of his, flexing his arms to show off his biceps. “I feel like I’m getting there. Helps that I’m not eatin’ bloody hospital food anymore.” He clapped his hands together. “Down to business, right? Follow me!”

Rat hobbled towards the other side of the scrapyard, his gait a little more hunched and scampering than normal but he could still move fast. As he disappeared out of sight behind a stack of boxes, Sombra noticed the other worktable, the one for Hog. This one had even more projects on it: the beginning stages of a scrapgun, lots of yellow Hogdrogen containers, attempts at constructing a leather mask, nails for the hook marinating in a bucket of water to give them that trademark tetanus charm, and a large cylinder with a tube attached, painted in Junkrat’s bright yellow. It caught her interest and she ran her hand across it.

“What is this, Rat?”

The explosives expert popped his head out from behind a car and narrowed his eyes to see what she was referring to.

“Oh yeah, that. It’s a breathing regulator for individuals with breathing difficulties.”

“You?” Sombra asked, feigning innocence. She needed to hear him say it.

“No… Hoggy.” He kicked his peg into the flat tire of the car. “Used ta sleep with it. They didn’t give him one at the prison, so I thought he could use one again. He does okay without it, but he doesn’t really sleep well. I hate to see him coughin’ and wheezin’ in the middle of the night. Makes me feel like I can’t breath...” Junkrat subconsciously brought his hand up to his own throat. He snapped back to attention, dropping his hand. “C’mon, c’mon, no time to waste!”

Rat led them into the connecting room which was supposed to be Rat’s bedroom. Not surprising at all, the place had been completely transformed into Rescue Hog HQ. The large bed was pushed against the wall, half of it littered with scraps, the other half covered by four of Junkrat’s RIP Tire 2.0 prototypes. In the center, he had created a scale replica of the prison layout Sombra had given him. It was a duct-taped, corrugated metal and cardboard work of art. Exhaust pipes from beater cars made up the four guard towers, actual barbed wire surrounded the fence. The building, which was a giant rectangle surrounding a recreation yard, had many details, some real and some imagined, delicately arranged. Both ladies were stunned at his creation, stepping around to admire it fully.

“So this is what a junker with a couple hundred hours of time on his hands gets up to?” Sombra said, barely pulling her jaw off the floor.

Rat couldn’t contain his grin, a sheet of paper into each of their hands: a copy of the hand-drawn prison map with detailed directions for The Plan.

“These are yer take-home copies. While we’re here in Rescue Hoggy HQ, I’d like to direct yer attention to-”

“Oh yeah, about this. Why is my face so round?” Sombra interrupted him, stroking her own jaw as she examined Rat’s depiction of her. “Is it actually this round?”

“Look, I’m an expert planner,expert scrapper, expert explosives technician, but I make no claims of bein’ an expert artist. I see two types of faces: round, like you and Roadie, and diamond like me and Window.”

“Widow,” she corrected him without hesitation. “And you spelled it wrong on my sheet.”

“Ah fuck,” Rat swore, snatching it out of her hand and scrawling a small “x” over the extra letter. “It’s hard for me, ya know? Remembering all these names. I’m used to jus’ Junkrat and Roadhog. Roadhog and Junkrat. Easy to remember those two.”

“Is this whole thing a plot for you to go blow up Roadhog?” Widow asked, motioning at the paper.

“Blow up Hog? Why wouldya ask that?”

“Looks like you have “BOOM” pointing at Roadhog.”

“Wha’? No, tha’s not… ugh.” Junkrat said, frustration creeping into his voice. He rubbed his hands together, trying to refocus them. “Okay! I’m goin’ over my plan now. Everything will be made clear. That copy was just to give ya an idea. If ya can please direct yer attention to the white board.”

The two women scanned the room for a white board only to see Junkrat hobble over to one of the white walls and take out a marker.

“Don’t,” Sombra said quietly to Widow when the sniper looked like she might stop him. “We’ll let him have this one.”

Junkrat gestured for the two of them to take their “seats” on two carseats torn from vehicles. Sombra plopped down unceremoniously while Widow attempted to carefully lower herself into a ladylike seating position.

“Ladies,” Junkrat began with a practiced voice and stance, like a professor lecturing his students. “I’m gonna start at the beginning, list the plan in steps with numbers. If ya have a problem with anything that I list, just pipe up. This is the planning phase. Ya may refer to my drawing as needed.”.

“Step 1: Find a competent pilot.” Rat scrawled it out as close to the ceiling as his gangly arms would reach. “Do we have a competent pilot for this mission?”

“Talon has many,” Widow said. “I’m certain we can find one suicidal enough to take on this mission.”

“I’m gonna assign that to ya, is that alright? I’m sure people like ya better here than they like me.” He wrote a small “W” beside step 1.

“Step 2: Fly to the prison. Now-” Junkrat scooped up a furled sheet of paper and snapped his hand down to unravel it. This would have been an impressive and dramatic gesture if it hadn’t immediately rolled back up and smacked him in the face on the way up. “Damnit.” He awkwardly tried to hold it open with both hands but it was a little too big for his wingspan. “HUNGARY!” Rat shouted, throwing the map to the ground. “The prison is in Hungary, ya don’t need to see that stupid fuckin’ country on a map. Sombra, can ya explain what ya told me about it to Widow?”

Sombra summoned up the map of Hungary on her own, much easier to manage screen. Junkrat may have muttered something about being a showoff. She zoomed in to the area outside of Szeged.

“Because of Hungary’s pseudo-membership in the European Coalition, it’s become a grey area dumping ground for Europe’s worst prisoners. I suppose they thought Switzerland’s prisons were too kind for Roadhog, or that perhaps they couldn’t hold him. This prison is quite strict, not adhering to the normal regulations of other Coalition prisons.”

“Ah,” Widow nodded. “So we don’t have too far to go, that’s a relief. Those transport planes are not the most comfortable.”

“Now the planes, they can stealth?” Rat asked, adding “activate stealth” to step 2. Sombra and Widow nodded. “Good, we’d be fried otherwise. That leads us to Step 3: Land in prison yard. So the prison is a rectangle surroundin’ the yard as ya can see from me lovely drawing.”

“One step back,” Sombra interrupted him. “How are we going to get out of the plane without being immediately shot?”

“That’s the next step. Step 4: Widow shoots the guards in the towers.”

“This is a problem,” Widow gestured to her copy of the plan. “You have these dotted lines from me to the snipers. I will be shot. I cannot take out four guards before they get off a shot.”

“See,” Rat said pointing to both of them. “This is why I have ya here, keep my plans grounded.”

Junkrat hobbled over to his scale replica of the prison, puzzling as he trekked around it. A box wrapped in duct tape appeared in his hands, apparently his replica of the transport plane.

“What if we approached from here.” He flew the plane from the south. “An’ I dropped a bomb here.” Junkrat tossed one of his grenades onto the model, breaking down a portion of the cardboard wall.

“Have you ever dropped a bomb from that height, Rat?” Sombra asked, biting the tip of her thumbnail, trying not to make her skepticism so obvious..

Rat waved her off, not even turning to look. “I know all the math, don’t doubt me. Trajectories and sine waves and hyperboles- all that shit. Don’t need to go to fancy grades schools, sittin’ in a class for twelve hours a day. Ya just go outside and start throwin’ shit off cliffs.”

“Fair enough,” Sombra said. His confidence was hard to question.

“I think it’s genius!” He stomped on the area broken up by the grenade. “These four floors all hold prisoners. They’ll start escaping as soon as the bomb blows a hole through the walls. That’ll send the guards into a panic. Sure, there’ll be some casualties, but it’ll all be worth it.”

“If you can drop a distraction,” Widow said. “I can take out two of the guards on our way in.”

Sombra nodded, looking back and forth between them. “I can juice up the plane’s cloaking as we get closer, but as soon as I disembark the plane, that’ll go down.”

Junkrat added these details to the whiteboard/wall, nodding along with them. This was the most alive Sombra had seen Rat since he arrived here. It reminded her of their huddled meeting in Calaveras where the three of them planned the Dorado bank robbery. Rat with his infectious enthusiasm and his need for Hog’s approval at every stage of their plan. Here he was, doing it all on his own, like there was something he needed to prove.

“Okay, so we rewrote Step 3: Rat bombs south side, Sombra boosts cloaking, Widow takes out guards. Got it?” He looked to them for approval before moving on. Both nodded.

“Aces, so Step 4: Land and disembark plane in prison yard.” Rat focused his attention on each of them. “This is where it gets complicated, so pay attention.”

“Step 5: Sombra turns invisible and goes through the south entrance to the yard or if enough of the wall is blown up, she can go through there. The goal is to get to here-” He pointed at the drawing. “The control room. It’s in charge of all the lockdown procedures, cameras, etc. If Sombra can EMP that, we’ll be able to move freely about the prison.”

“Hungary is practically stuck in the first half of the century." Sombra said, standing beside Junkrat. "All security of this building has been retrofitted on, it’s very vulnerable to a cyberattack from someone like me. Surprised it hasn’t happened yet. Knocking the system down will be easy.” Sombra drew an “X” across the room. “Keeping it down may be more difficult. I’ll have to remain in that area until I get the message from you that we’re clear to leave.”

“Widow,” Rat said, pointing at her. “You’ll go with Sombra once the guards have been cleared out. Hopefully if we damage this space, they won’t be able to track or target us on our way out. Which leads me to Step 6. Junkrat blasts hole in wall to weight room.”

Rat bent over the replica, hurling a grenade through the mini-prison wall marked with a large “X”. On the other side of the wall sat a tiny pig made out of coffee filters, used to represent Roadhog.

“We’re timin’ it so all of this will go down when Hoggy is in his rec time. He’s always in the weight room, which faces out on the rec yard. Once the fuses are placed,” Junkrat raised his hands over his head and mouthed 'boom,’ eyes lighting up with unbridled joy. “And then, Hoggy will be on the other side of the wall. We'll plan to be goin' through that wall at 1:15pm and there we'll find Hoggy. Lifting weights, all sweaty, reekin’ with that musky smell he gets, maybe he's got his sleeves rolled up to see his big fuckin’ forearms, some of his hair fallin’ out of his ponytail, pantin’ and sweatin’ an’-”

“Yeah, we're good, we get it,” Sombra said, choking back a laugh at the look on Widow's face through all this (nose scrunched like she was trying to determine the location of sour milk). “My Talon plant at the prison will make sure Hog knows the day he's being broken out so he’s prepared to make a run for it.”

“Right, Talon guard…” Rat studied his board. “Forgot ‘bout the guard. Can they… help us with this plan?”

Sombra bobbed her head back and forth in thought. “Maybe a few things to make it easier once we’re in, but she can’t exactly jump in with us without blowing her cover completely. She’ll have to remain discrete.”

“Gotcha, okay, back to the plan. Step.... what step am I on? 7!” He scrawled it on the board and wrote ‘Bring home the bacon’ beside it with a little chuckle at his own joke. “Step 7: Grab Hog from the weight room, take him out through the hole, and to the plane. You two are makin’ yer way back to the plane, icin’ motherfuckers as ya do. We hop on the plane and we take off. The EMP damaged most of the security for the buildin’ and we’re home free.”

He clapped his hands together and looked eagerly back and forth between their blank looks. “I’ll go over this one more time since ya seem unsure. Wanna make sure my teammates are on the same page.” Junkrat draws in a huge breath, chest puffing up before he rattles off: “Stealth in, drop the bomb, snipe guards, land, EMP, blow the wall!” He threw out his hands in a dramatic gesture, grinning with excitement. “Whaddya think?”

"You going to leave Roadhog?" Widow asked, cocking her head.

"Oh!" Rat hit himself in the forehead with his palm. "Stealth, bomb, snipe, land, EMP, BOOM, Hog and fly away!" Again, that wide open-mouthed grin awaited some kind of response.

The resounding silence between the two of them didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Well,” Sombra started slowly. “It sounds suicidal.”

“So suicidal that it might just work?” Rat asked hopefully, balling his hands against his cheek.

“Just suicidal,” Widow said, rubbing her forehead.

Rat groaned and leaned his body against the wall in anguish. Roadhog never shat on his plans like this... Wait, yes he totally did. This was part of the process.

“The problem is if things don’t go exactly like you’ve laid out here.”

“Tha’s why the EMP is important,” Junkrat said, circling the letters on the board. “It’s a backup plan, it’s insurance. Throws a little more chaos into the mix, keeps down the security systems, covers our backs.”

“I should remain on the plane,” Widow said. “Staying in the air would be much safer and more effective. We’ll have earpieces, non? We can land once you tell us you’ve secured the Hog.”

“That will leave Sombra open,” Rat cast a look over at her.

“I’ll be fine,” Sombra said. “No one will expect me stealthing around when you’re there blowing everything up.” She pulled herself out of her carseat and stood in front of the board, puzzling beside him. “You’re going to draw a lot of attention.”

“I’m used ta that, sheila. All day, e’eryday. I’m lucky though, bullets don’t seem to like me, for as much as I’ve been shot at. Maybe they think I’m one of ‘em, with all the metal.” Rat tapped his metal hand against his metal crutches and his metal leg.

“Is Talon putting its name on this?” Widow asked, standing beside Sombra, leaning an arm on her shoulder.

“If it goes well, sure. If not… I’m guessing we won’t be alive to know.”

“Geez, mates, c’mon, have a little faith! In me and in yerselves.” Junkrat squeezed his way between them as they stared at the literal writing on the wall, putting two dirty arms around their shoulders and pulling them close. “That right there, that’s my best plan I’ve ever come up with. And you two get to be a part of it! How lucky are ya?” He dropped his hands on their heads, ruffling their hair, some of Widow’s ponytail getting stuck in the joints of his fake hand.

“Extremely,” Widow said, spinning out of his embrace and fishing some hand sanitizer out of her pocket to rub her arms down.

“I’m proud of you, Rat,” Sombra said, looping her arms around his skinny waist and pulling him into a hug. “You’ve come a long way. But remember-” She took the marker out of Rat’s hand and approached the wall. Beside the numbers 1-7 she draw a large Roadhog head. “Remember, everyone, we do it for him. We don’t do it for fire or mayhem or the chance to get ourselves shot or the look on Reaper’s face when he sees how much we fuck this up or how much it’s going to cost us. We do it for Roadie.” She circled Roadhog’s head a few times.

“Yeah!” Rat shouted, pumping a fist in the air. He at least was inspired by her speech. Widow not as much as started making her way for the door.

“The fumes in here are giving me a headache. Message me the details of when this is happening. I’ll get your pilot.”

“Bye, Window! Come back any time!” Rat called to the closing door. He grinned that ever-present grin over at Sombra. “What are the chances we can just leave and go to the beach after all this?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Sombra snorted.

  
***

The night was strangely quiet. The lunatic in 240c hadn’t screamed in about forty-five minutes, his neighbor to the right hadn’t tried to shit through the food slot in his door, no one had been pulled out and beaten. Even the screaming in Roadhog’s head was quiet, the swirling doubts, regrets, self-hatred packed up and left for the evening. Hog wasn’t thinking about Junkrat or Talon or Junkertown or what could have been or what should have been or much of anything. Lying on his back in bed, he had a new notepad to enjoy, complete with a special bendy pen that in no way could be formed into a weapon. Tonight he doodled, long connecting scrawls reaching across the yellow sheet. Okay, to say he wasn’t thinking about Junkrat was a slight lie. He wasn’t actively thinking about the Rat but the occasional fire spirit would pop onto the page with three-pronged hair and a devil’s smile.

The pacing of the prison’s guards became background noise a long time ago for him, the heavy boots marching back and forth. Hog followed the rules, didn’t make waves, he knew he wasn’t about to be pulled out for a random cavity search. However, there was one pair of treads that always peaked his interest. A lighter step, her boots weren’t as heavy, her pace quicker. He could hear her coming from far away and he immediately knew she had something for him. He had barely even seen her face-to-face, mostly knew her from the few notes she passed through his cell door. Tonight, he knew she was coming for him by how carefully she tried not to rush along. She was trying to maintain some semblance of not being an obvious Talon plant.

The bed groaned under Hog as he pushed himself to his feet. Still doodling on the notepad, he relocated himself beside the door, listening to her approaching steps. He couldn’t help but resent her a little. Over these past few months, he had nearly no information about Rat. She had told him Rat was alive, told him when Rat woke up from a three-week coma, gave him a vague and unhelpful progress update and that was about it. Let him stew on his own. Of course, she was mostly being paid to keep an eye on him and any lack of communication could be blamed on Sombra, but it still stung Hog.

Finally her boots slowed and a small piece of paper pushed through the slot on his door. Barely breaking her stride, she continued on down the hallway like nothing happened. Hog took a deep breath and plucked up the sheet of paper, unfolding it.

_Tuesday 1:15pm_  
_They are coming for you._

The words rang through his head as he shredded the note into a thousand bits of confetti and dropped them into his metal toilet. Roadhog sank back down onto the bed, his hands white-knuckle gripping his pad of paper scrawled with absentminded doodles. _They are coming for you. Junkrat is coming. You’re going to see him again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, it's pretty damn hard to come up with a plan that is both realistic for a reader to buy into and keeping in character with Junkrat's harebrained plans in canon. My goal was for this one to walk the line between "okay, this could work" and "okay, Rat is crazy."
> 
> Thank you for your awesome comments! You guys keep me motivated with this fic! We're about to get to the good shit (tm) and I'm very excited!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more Roadrat! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog's final day in prison.

_8:14am_  
_He is coming for you._

Roadhog paced back and forth in his tiny cell, four steps one way, four steps back, head in his hands. He had barely slept since the Talon guard pushed the vague note into his cell, brain moving a million miles while his body could do nothing but sit and wait, begging anxiety not to overwhelm him. Moving helped, getting blood flowing to his limbs, keeping him from becoming paralysed as he lay in bed staring at the same ceiling he had memorized months ago.

They had taken his mask when he was first taken into police custody, wising up and actually taking a photo of him without it. It infuriated him to know that part of who he was just sat gathering dust on a police evidence shelf. The hook, the gun, his armor, all of that he was attached to but it could be replaced. Not the mask. It was like losing a limb. He was still not used to life without it, not used to the cold air on his cheeks or guards being able to stare into his face and read his expression. His breathing difficulties had only increased. Guards would provide him with an inhaler but the medicine was weak in comparison to his Hogdrogen and the guards usually had him earn it by performing some sort of humiliating task while choking to death.

The guard was four minutes late with his breakfast. Why of all days did he have to be late today? It was going to fuck up his schedule for the day, wasn’t it? What would normally be a minor inconvenience could be a disaster today. Hog had never been a strict schedule keeper in any of his past lives. He and Rat slept when they were tired, ate when they were hungry, fucked when they were horny. The idea of adhering to a set pattern of behaviors based on the relative position of the sun in the sky was a foreign concept. But as he adjusted to his new life here, keeping a regimented schedule was the only thing he could do to hold the floodgates of self-loathing and doubt at least halfway closed.

_Today they are coming for you._

A pit of dread sat in his stomach, a pulsing mass of everything he had tried to bottle up over the past few months: _what if they aren’t actually coming, what if Rat won’t be with them, what if they can’t find me, what if he gets hurt in the process, what if he dies in the process, what if he hasn’t recovered, what if he won’t understand why I did what I did, what if he’s moved on, what if he can’t look at me the same again, what if I’ve lost his trust, what if he doesn’t love me anymore, why didn’t I say it?_ All of it tried to drown out a part of Hog, a glimmering naive, idiotic shred of light. Even Hog tried to thrust it down, tell it to fuck right off for tricking him all those years ago when he had a future and a dream and people he loved. When he had hope for people and a better life. That light flickered to life sometime after meeting Junkrat. It burned until it became uncomfortable, until he had to disengage from it, push it back down. But it wouldn’t go out, it couldn’t anymore. Not once he realized the brightness in those eyes kept it kindled. While those eyes still burned, he still burned. For all the doubts in his head, vying for his attention, that light didn’t go away. _You’re going to be with him again._

_8:22am_

Insults were muttered in a language he couldn’t understand as his tray was pushed through his slot. Hog picked at the food on his tray with his floppy spoon/fork monstrosity. On today’s menu: slop with a side of shit. At least it was vegetarian shit. Still, Roadhog could barely bring himself to touch it, nudging it behind the toilet with his foot.

These past months had been strange and disorienting. Hog had spent his past four years solely thinking, worrying, and dwelling on one person (did Rat have enough to eat, why was he taking so long to piss, why was he being so quiet, why was he being so loud, why did he make that face, why did he say that?). There was no ramp up, no slow build for Junkrat taking over his every waking (and sometimes sleeping) thought. One moment Hog was minding his own business, trying to get a drink in his favorite Junkertown bar and then the next he’s beating down the Queen’s mooks to save this lunatic promising him a treasure he didn’t believe existed. And then the next he’s walking out of town with the man, moving him into his house, adopting all his plans, entering mech contests with him, looting, pillaging, fucking, falling in love- everything he thought he was too old for. Having that person ripped from his life by his own fault was a jarring yet familiar feeling.

In his hours of solitude, Roadhog thought about _them_ too, or he tried to. A warm smile, a dirty pachimari doll, ascending notes of a melody. He could barely scrape together enough of an image of them to remember what they looked like or who they were. All that remained of those memories were holes carved out by trauma. He knew they were dead because of him, because of his mistakes, because he decided to have hope and it blinded him, made him a fool. Junkrat knew they existed, but never pried into who they were, eventually coming to understand that even Hog didn’t know. Hog couldn’t be sure if Rat really understood the extent of the damage or if Rat knew that Hog’s overprotectiveness stemmed from that loss. Junkrat had helped him heal, had reached up and without asking, slowly peeled back the mask to find something other than a monster beneath.

_8:47am_

With a groan, Hog lay back on his bed, closing his eyes and trying to will himself back to sleep until lunch hour. At times, he found it easier to sleep during the bustle of the daytime than the silent dark of the night. The clinking of chains, rattling of metal on metal, prisoners babbling to themselves or anyone else in ear range- the sounds all comforted him to a degree. If he closed his eyes and shut out the screaming in his brain, he would almost be reminded of home.

Images of Junkrat sprawled broken in his arms stabbed through his brain. Hog pressed his fingers to his temples. Memories of that Geneva night haunted him most hours of the day but sometimes they hit him in flashes, beating him down when he was unprepared. No matter what, Hog had to remind himself that he made the right choice. Rat was alive and safe. He was coming to break him out of prison because of the choice Hog made. Nothing Rat could say would change his mind. There was always the outside chance that he’d get what he wanted after all: Junkrat leaping into his arms, pressing long-overdue kisses to his skin and telling him he’d never doubt him again, telling him he did know what was best for him. Rich fantasy right there. If Roadhog knew anything about Rat, it was how stubborn he was. He worked that to his advantage most of the time, never giving up on his plans or a new prototype. His determination and his stubbornness were all wrapped into one freakish emotion that was uniquely Junkrat.

_Junkrat…_

Of course Rat didn’t leave his mind when he rubbed himself off. In his normal daily schedule, this would have been the first of many times over the course of the day he would pleasure himself out of boredom, but not today. Today, he squeezed himself through his pants as a way to calm his growing nerves and to keep himself from losing it the second he laid eyes on the man. He knew it would be a problem after putting the man on a pedestal for months.

Hog kneaded at his bulge through his pants for a couple more strokes before freeing it from behind the buttons. God he missed Rat’s tight hole and his sharp little body. He didn’t need to be polite or sentimental about it. He spent about 24 hours a day agonizing over his guilt, wondering if Rat was still alive, how he was, what he was doing, if things would ever be the same between them again. He was allowed to budget fifteen minutes to objectify the man he would do anything to see again, fantasizing about the things he would do if he ever got his fat cock near him again.

He huffed quietly as he twisted his hand around his cock, blowing a strand of his hair from his eyes. Maybe it was the nerves shocking through his body, anxiety keeping his heart rate high, but he wasn’t going to last long. The memory moving through his head: he and Rat were shitfaced on some illegally imported rum (fuck taxes) back in Junkertown and Rat was determined to ride Hog’s cock that night. He was wild, unsteady, unraveling, but something about the unhinged joy in his eyes really stuck with Hog. Hog would never forget his face when he came, sharpness softening as he collapsed against his chest.

His eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his orgasm in the confines of his cell, the sparks of the memory fading to the back of his mind, release taking the edge off his nerves. He cleaned himself off with some toilet paper and collapsed back on the bed, hoping sleep would rob him of a few anxiety-filled hours.

_11:48am_

“Rutledge!” Banging on his cell door. He sat bolt upright and puzzled at the time. Lunch shouldn’t be for another forty-five minutes. How could they just change up the schedule like this? “Your rec hour got moved up,” the guard at the door yelled to him. “Your fat ass needs to be at this door in 5 seconds or you’re missing out.”

Shit. As sluggishly as possible, Hog rose to his feet and trudged to the door.

“This isn't my time,” he said obstinately. He wasn't about to have the plan derailed already (not that he had actually been clued into the plan or his role in it. He assumed because of the specific time and his normal routine, they were going to bail him out while he lifted weights, but that was only based on assumption).

“You have 5 seconds to place your hands through the slot to be cuffed, Rutledge, or else you're in here for the rest of the week.”

Reluctantly, he moved to the door, hands and feet in place though the gaps in the cell door, waiting to be chained. Unlike the rest of the prisoners here, they used the chains made out of blue beams of hard light to restrain him, just as they had when they tossed him in the back of the armored car. Probably the smart choice. He had been known to break out of normal cuffs. The light beams fastened around his wrists and ankles and didn’t make a satisfying metallic click, just a three-toned beep to let the guard know he was secured.

The guard who faced him when the metal door swung open was a familiar and unwelcome face to Hog, one of the only English speakers on the floor whose task was to make Hog’s life as miserable as possible. Great. He could already see this smartass thinking up new ways to taunt him.

“Weight room as usual, Rutledge?” The guard asked him. Hog grunted in agreement.

“Not much news on your partner these days,” the guard sneered, apparently feeling safe enough with Hog fully restrained. “Probably died a while ago, tossed his body out with the trash.” His dark, sunken eyes tried to meet with Roadhog’s, wide with the anticipation of some sort of response from the giant. Times like this he cursed them for taking his mask. These cunts had no right to stare into his face for clues into his head.

“You gotten a chance to see that video of you in Geneva?” The guard continued, giving him a shove to the left to turn down the hallway for the weight room. “Pretty heart-breaking stuff. You should really watch it.” Again, those eyes seeking some acknowledgement. Roadhog would die before giving him any.

He hadn’t seen this video, but apparently the rest of the planet had, and came to the conclusion that taunting Roadhog with news about Junkrat’s death would be the most effective form of torture. In the early days of his imprisonment, it would have enraged him, broken him down if they had all agreed to stick to one cohesive story. Other prisoners, guards, drivers, lawyers told him everything from “Junkrat died on his way to the hospital” to “Junkrat died in surgery” to “Junkrat recovered, broke out of the police holding cell and then was immediately hit by a car.” That last one was almost humorous because he could totally see it happening. His years of wearing a mask prepared him for this moment, when he would stare straight ahead and not react. The taunts held much less power over him once he received his first update from Sombra, knowing Rat was alive and in the relative safety of Talon’s care.

_12:03pm_

The weight room had been a sweaty, filthy paradise for him. Bench presses, free weights, pull up bars, leg presses, rowing machines, a few neglected treadmills. Machines were heavily secured to keep any of the weights from becoming 70+ lb projectiles but otherwise prisoners had free range. Others in the room cast uneasy glances in his direction as Hog was unchained and turned loose into the room. No one messed with him when he was unrestrained. At 7-foot-3 and 500 and holy shit pounds and with hands that could pop a head like a grape, it would be a death wish for anyone to provoke him.

Lifting was the closest thing to meditation Hog had ever been able to achieve in this life. Sweating, counting reps, pushing himself just a bit more each time. It gave him drive and focus, something to work towards. None of that even broached his mind as he added weight to both sides of his bench press.

“Easy today?” A fellow prisoner asked him in broken English. The friendly Hungarian man had tried to converse with Roadhog on several occasions, not seeming to be deterred by the lack of response.

Hog cast him a glare out of the corner of his eye, not comfortable with anyone paying enough attention to him to know when he lifted less weight than normal.

 _...Eleven, twelve._ Hog finished his set on the bench and added ten more pounds to each side. He grabbed a towel, wiping glistening sweat from his face and hands. Shouldn’t be pushing himself, not today. He didn’t want to have to go beg a guard for an inhaler. They knew about his breathing difficulties, exacerbated by the lack of a mask and regular huffs of Hogdrogen.

Hog searched the wall for the sweat-dyed clock: 12:07pm. The only fucking thing he had to do was be in this room at 1:15pm and he was going to fail. Over the course of the hour, the hands on the clock dragged their way around: _One hour, 53 minutes, 47 minutes, 42 minutes_. His heart began to clench as the time ticked down. The showers. He’d be in the showers at 1:15pm. Rat would be able to find him there, he was sure of it. Rat’s plans never went as they should, the two of them knew how to improvise better than a jazz quartet. He’d figure it out.

_1:00pm_

The sharp bark in Hungarian meant his time in the weight room was over. Hog tried to drag his feet but he knew he couldn’t linger for fifteen minutes. A passing thought was given to bribing the guard to let him stay there but he did not have much to offer. Along with the other dozen prisoners, all reeking of sweat and machine stink, Hog was herded out and down the hall. The sounds of the world around him were barely perceptible over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Once in the bathroom, he moved with the practice of daily repetition, following along with the other prisoners, stripping down in the tile room off from the showers, dumping his uniform in a bin, trying to ignore his maskless face in the mirror, moving along to the farthest end of the showers.

Not even the chill of the miserable shower water could jolt him into fully believe anyone was coming for him. Numb. He barely could comprehend the conversations going on around him, not acknowledging the young, heavily pierced man who said “nice tat” while looking way lower than his tattoo. Hog completely blocked out the men standing behind him making pig snorting noises, the only way they knew how to communicate with him. When his heart rate rose and his anxiety ran off the charts, Hog was prone to acting rashly. So when two men decided they wanted something from him and clapped two hands on his thick shoulders, he reacted. Fist one to smarmy face number one, fist two to asshole face number two. The prisoners dropped to the floor of the showers, unmoving, blood from their noses gushing towards the drains. Roadhog panted, clenching and unclenching his fists, forgetting all his efforts to fly under the radar here, remembering the rush of a fight. The next man in line behind smarmy and asshole didn’t look like he was about to continue this fight but Roadhog’s fist found his stomach and threw him against the wall. An all-out brawl started, no one really knowing why anyone was throwing punches and all of them knowing they did not want to be punched by the 7 foot man with fists the size of watermelons. It took about thirty seconds for guards to arrive, tasers at the ready. By the time they skidded into the showers, Roadhog stood, amidst a dozen limp bodies, completely naked, shower water washing blood off him.

They shouted at him in Hungarian, panic in their eyes. Hog was about to slowly lower himself to the floor and then it happened.

Any bomb expert could tell you that bombs leave specific fingerprints, unique to the bombmaker. Every wire, every piece of scrap and metal, every powder and every chemical can point the finger as clearly as DNA evidence. Roadhog was no explosives expert but he knew the unique sound of Rat’s bombs as well as any forensic explosives expert could know a bomb, the roar of its voice as it tore through metal and concrete, the hiss of the fires it started. The bathroom shook and rumbled with the impact of an explosion, a deep satisfying boom that twisted something deep and familiar in Hog’s gut. The unmistakable cacophony could only belong to one man. _Junkrat is here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close! I've very excited about what's coming next. I plan to have the next few chapters being shorter like this one (short as in compared to the 6k chapters I've had before) but hopefully coming out sooner, 'cause we've got a lot of stuff to pack in here.
> 
> Thanks to @VolitileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!
> 
> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prison break-in, prison break out.

_12:41pm_

Rat’s nervously bouncing leg jostled the backpack as he dug around in it. This was probably the fifth time since getting on the plane that he pawed his way through the contents, quintuple-checking he had what he needed for Roadhog: a change of clothes, five cans of Hogdrogen (Ratdrogen, he was calling it now. If Hog wanted to sue him for copyright infringement, he could do that later), a makeshift over-the-mouth mask fitted for quick gas inhalation, and a crossword puzzle book in case he got bored on the flight back to Talon HQ. Counting all that up again, he sighed loudly, zipping the backpack. A good five seconds passed before Rat shuffled around again like he was about to open it again.

“Why don’t you stretch your legs? Check your own supplies over there?” Sombra asked from the seat beside him as she saw he was about to dig through Hog’s bag again.

“‘Cause I’m annoyin’ ya?”

“Si,” her eyes followed him as he hopped to his feet and approached the round work table. “And no more coffee!”

Rat groaned, flopping his whole body down over the table in a dramatic show of protest. His special smiley-face wearing RIP-Tire caught his attention, waiting patiently near the exit to be dropped out of the plane. It was similar in appearance to his original, but the tire was thicker and packed with about five times the explosive power. While it bore the same basic appearance as the one he lugged around on his back, this one was designed exclusively to be dropped on the prison. He knelt down in front of it, yanking off the front panel to fiddle with the wires.

“We would both appreciate it if you didn’t touch that bomb,” Widow called over to him.

“Don’t get yer panties in a bunch. Just givin’ RIP-Tire 3.0 a once-over before she sails home.” Rat grinned over at her, eyes a bit more manic than usual as he mouthed “boom.” He giggled to himself at their unamusement.

Once he was satisfied that he had sufficiently unnerved his colleagues, he moved on to checking his own gear: new launcher ready to go, bandolier full of spare grenades, brand new hook for Hog fastened to his hip with the long chain wound up and nestled low against the small of his back, heavy packs of C4, smoke bombs, and enough boom to take down the entire prison.

Rat had demanded Operation Swinetime dress alike and, after a brief but heated discussion about costumes, team compromised with wearing all black. Sombra wore her typical jacket in black with stylized purple accents and Widow in a skintight black suit that harkened back to her earlier Talon days. As someone rarely seen outside of his ratty pair of shorts, Rat made the biggest transformation: black, high collared shirt that clung to his skin and left his stomach exposed (he had to pay some mind to the trifecta of male sweatiness) with long black pants to cover his leg supports. He didn’t need Hoggy to see that weakness, not yet at least.

Sombra and Widow both closed their eyes, opting not to look directly at Junkrat and the various implements of death he was fiddling with. They were close to falling into a tenuous sleep, Sombra’s head resting on Widow’s shoulder, when a voice came over the comms in their ears.

“Uhh, this is yer pilot speakin’,” came the voice that was definitely not their pilot. “We’re cruisin’ through the ass-end of Europe and there’s nothin’ to do on this ship and my two lovely companions are sleepin’ instead of entertainin’ me-”

“Rat!” Widow snapped, sitting forward in her seat to glare at Junkrat crouching over by the coffee maker, whispering into the comm. “If you don’t shut your mouth-” She dissolved into a volley of French exasperation.

Sombra unbuckled herself, pushing Widow by the forehead back into her seat as she relocated into the seating area next to Junkrat. He hummed up at her, shaking slightly as he hugged his gangly arms around his legs.

“You want attention because you’re nervous,” Sombra said, pouring him a cup of water and forcing it into his hands.

“‘Course I’m nervous,” he swirled the cup in his hands until a bit of turbulence splashed it onto his pants.

“We’re nervous too,” Sombra said. “So maybe try to cut out the annoying bullshit?”

“Yer not allowed to be nervous,” Rat downed the cup of water, tossing it aside. “Yer professionals.”

“Everyone gets nervous. Just remember to stay calm and stick to the plan. We should be fine.” Even her reassuring voice betrayed some uncertainty.

Rat caressed back across the top of the RIP-tire, like its presence and feeling gave him comfort, slowed his shaking. Fingers traced the wide grin and outlined the eyes.

“I don’t think we’re nervous about the same things,” Sombra said as she observed how calmly he handled the massive explosive device.

“Prolly not.” His orange eyes met hers. “Bombin’ don’t make me nervous. Hoggy and I have done tons of things like this.”

“Tons?” Sombra scoffed. “You’ve dropped bombs out of planes before?”

“Well no,” Junkrat said, rolling his eyes like she was being overly pedantic. “Dropped bombs out of most vehicles though,” he began counting on his fingers. “Motorcycle, car, truck, boat, jet ski, taxi, tram car, zamboni-”

“You have not dropped a bomb off a zamboni.” Sombra laughed, grateful for the non-annoying levity. “You don’t even know what that is.”

“Excuse me, miss,” Rat said, hands on hips. “You don’t know everything Hoggy and I did. Maybe there was a high-speed zamboni chase.”

“Yeah, you definitely don’t know what that is,” Sombra said, shaking her head.

Rat scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue before turning back to stroking the bomb.

“So you’re nervous about seeing him?” Of all times to press, now was probably the best and last time.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking noticeably increasing. “I’m just… worried he’s gonna be stubborn. All he’s gonna see is Rat doin’ well, Rat lookin’ alive and healthy and he’s gonna say nothin’ else matters and he made the right choice.”

“But he did make the right choice,” Sombra pushed him on this. “Didn’t he?”

“‘S not the point,” he snapped, fist pounding dangerously on the bomb. “The point is that he ignored what I asked him to do over and over and over and made a huge decision about my life without ever askin’ me. ‘Cause he thought I couldn’t handle makin’ a decision like that or that he couldn’t talk to me about it.” Rat let out a huge sigh and refocused on her. “Ya know I appreciate what you’ve done for me, right? I don’t wanna come off as not appreciative. You know that?”

Sombra nodded, forcing a reassuring smile.

“Good. This is just a problem we’ve had for a while, me an’ Hoggy. He thinks I can’t be independent, can’t be trusted not to blow me own limbs off, blah blah blah.”

“It comes from a good place,” Sombra said, leaning against the wall. “I get it’s frustrating and you deserve a partner who trusts you. But he doesn’t do it to control you.”

“I know…” Rat thought for a few seconds before waving her off. “It’s a me and Hoggy thing. It’s complicated and we jus’ gotta make it right between us.”

“I have total faith in you,” she said, pouring the remainder of the pot of coffee for herself and gulping it down.

“This is your actual captain speaking,” a Polish accent came over the comm system. “We are within thirty minutes of our target. Sombra, we’re ready to boost the cloaking when you are.”

Giving him one last smile, Sombra ruffled Rat’s hair and stood up. “I’ll be up front when you have to drop the bomb. Make sure you’re strapped in,” she pointed to the secure harnesses beside the door to the outside. “And that Widow is ready to cover you.”

“Gotcha.” Rat snapped her an overconfident set of finger guns and she turned and took her place at the helm of the ship.

 

_1:12pm_

“Ya ready, Sombra?” Rat’s voice came over the comms.

“Si si, ready as I’ll ever be!”

“Ya ready, Widow?”

“I’m ready.”

“Okay, mates, prepare to activate Operation Swinetime.”

Junkrat stood with one foot on the tire, strapped against the side of the ship with the door open to the world below him. Wind swept around him violently, threatening to unbalance the one-legged man, but he stood fast. Trees, forest, farmland soared below them as they passed over the Hungarian countryside. There was thick cloud coverage that day, helping them not cast long shadows in the early afternoon. Then, on the horizon in all of its ominous glory, the prison appeared. Rat knew from his extensive planning what it was going to look like, but wasn’t prepared for how brutally it loomed on the landscape, towers rising up, barbed wire fencing, Soviet-era charm. A box to hold Roadhog. The intense, sharp desire to level the whole thing rocketed through his body but he pushed back on it, remembering the Plan.

Widow strapped into the harness on the other side of the open door and waited with her rifle against her shoulder. She observed Rat with curiosity and caution as he knelt down and placed both hands on the bomb. Closer and closer the prison came sailing towards them, the ship angling lower. Junkrat narrowed his eyes, focusing, counting, hearing nothing but his own breath and the woosh of air across his face. Five, four, three, two, one-

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

Rat put a heavy combat boot on the RIP-tire, yanked the cord and he kicked the bomb out of the plane. The plane sailed over the rec yard and past the far end of the prison as the bomb sailed down. Rat unhooked himself from the harness and sprinted over to the other window in time to see it.

The sight of an explosion came first. Fire, splintering debris, shards of glass, chunks of concrete rippled out from the south side of the building in a wave of destruction. Then came the sounds, the beautiful symphony made just for him, his ears sharply tuned to pick up its intricacies. A heady, overwhelming rumble accompanied the treble smashing of glass and the crumbling of the foundation. Fire roared and crackled out from the site of the impact. Barely audible were the screams and the fumbling human reaction to unexpected chaos and mayhem.

Junkrat screeched out a long, babbling laugh, stamping on the ground in joy, his hands plastered against the window. He relocated to the other window as the plane began to make its way around again, preparing for landing.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” He screamed into the voice comms.

“We did,” Sombra’s voice came over with a chuckle. “Try to take it down a couple volume levels.”

“Sorry, mates!” Rat wiped a hand across his forehead and adjusted himself in his pants. “Woo that was something like I’ve never seen before. I’m only bombin’ shit from planes from now on!”

“Get ready! I’m engaging!” Widow shouted, through the rippling air, readying her gun as they approached the prison again.

Rat plugged his ears as three shots rang out from the sniper.

“Two tower guards down.” She peered into the rec yard where they prepared to land. Prisoners scattered in all directions, some even making a break for the fiery hole left by the explosion, hoping to make a mad dash for freedom. “It’s chaos down there, but I know there are guards on the ground. Both of you be careful. I’ll cover you the best I can.”

The ship touched down in the southeast corner of the yard, giving them a small amount of cover by the explosive debris, but putting them close to the blaze.

“Cloaking’s going down in 3, 2, 1-” Sombra disengaged from the cloaking and ran down to the exit beside them. As soon as she did, shots began to ring out, pounding against the side of their ship.

“Are you going to be safe goin’ in there?” Rat asked, gesturing to the location of the control center near the growing fire.

“I’ll be fine!” She pulled up a small breathing apparatus over her mouth. “I gotta EMP the place or everything will stay locked when the fire destroys it!”

“All right! Let’s do it!”

“Keep in communication with me, Rat! We’ll make it through, okay?” Sombra said, squeezing his shoulder and giving a small, affectionate tug to Widow’s ponytail before turning pixelated and invisible.

When it was clear the guards hadn’t seen her leave the ship, Widow turned her attention to him. “I’ll cover you. Now’s the time to use everything you have.”

“You got it! See ya on the other side, Window!” Rat took a deep breath, propping his grenade launcher against his shoulder, staring down at his own legs, willing them not to fail him, hoping all the training and therapy had prepared him. He tossed out a smoke bomb and dashed into the courtyard.

Moving at a speed he didn’t know his legs could move, Rat fixated ahead on the spot he had memorized on the wall: a long windowless stretch, an area where the pattern and color of concrete was a little off, like they filled it in at a later time. Rat lifted his grenade launcher, lobbing two balls at a guard near the east courtyard entrance who appeared to be readying a weapon. A few more shots from Widow rang out, now that he was used to it- a familiar and welcome sound. He dropped another smoke bomb a small distance behind him, giving him the protection of a smoke curtain as he readied the charges against the wall. Six should do it, he thought, counting and calculating over and over again in his head. Six charges to get to Hoggy, six charges to get to Hoggy. He leapt back, crouching and covering his ears as he smashed the detonator button.

Okay, maybe he didn’t leap back enough because the resulting explosion blasted him back onto his ass, singing his hair and eyebrows. He howled with laughter as he pulled himself to his feet to see the smoke clearing away from the hole in the wall.

“Now that you’re in, Rat,” Widow’s voice came over the comm, “We’re taking the plane back up to enact evasive maneuvers. Try to give us a two minute warning before you need to be picked up.”

“You got it.”

He didn’t have time to let his nerves slow him down, as much as his stomach churned and his nerves threatened to overpower him. The sound of the ensuing chaos melted into the background. He was going to see him. Rat climbed through the hole in the wall, the smoke and fire shielding him from any backup coming in from the rec yard.

Rusted, old equipment, yellow, sweat-dyed walls, the stench of bad breath and body odor. A dozen men cowered in the back of the weight room, all manners of tough, hardened criminals, shivering and fearing for their lives. Junkrat brandished his grenade launcher wildly, scanning the room. No Roadhog.

“FUCK!” He roared, trying and failing to upend a cart full of barbells in his rage. That non-threatening gesture aside, he pointed the grenade launcher at the prisoners. “Where is Roadhog?” He howled over the sirens and the screaming. No one answered, enraging him further. “If no one tells me where Roadhog is, I’m gonna start here-” he pointed to a short, stocky man on the end. “And I’m gonna start blastin’ legs off until you tell me.”

Rat almost missed it; the sight of the guard charging him in his peripheral vision. He would have missed it entirely if it hadn’t been from the prisoners all jerking their attention to the guard. It gave Junkrat enough time to hop to the side and launch a grenade directly into the man’s gut, dropping him in a burst of blood and viscera. Crimson splatters coated Rat’s front, blowing his eyes wide and intense.

“Ya wanna look like that?” He screeched out a high-pitched laughter, trying to wipe blood off his face but only making himself look more manic. “I’m on a timer here, mates! Tick tock tick tock! Ya wanna-”

“Showers!” One man, the smallest of the bunch, shouted out, trying to make himself even smaller. “If he was just here, he’s in the showers.”

Junkrat stepped forward, laughter gone, lips pulled into a serious line as he appraised the man.

“Yer sure?” Rat squinted, trying to discern a trap.

“Yes!” the man stuttered. “Left down that hallway, all the way at the end. Just don’t hurt me.”

Rat gave a nod and stepped aside, making the hole in the wall available to them. “Exit is through the blazing inferno on the south side. Best of luck!”

With that he tore out the door into the prison hallway, chain jangling on his back, making him sound a little like how Roadhog moved. Austere, unfeeling hallways stretched before him, almost triggered flashbacks to his times lost in the Talon base. Was this place designed by the same bloke? This place was older, dirtier, the stink of prisoners, mold, sweat, old food clinging to the air. He had to give Talon HQ some credit, it was fairly clean. The unrelenting sirens and blazing lights assaulted him as he moved through the hallway.

“EMP activated!” Sombra’s voice came over the comm, a welcome sound.

The screeching abruptly stopped and the lights ceased but several grates had closed off the stretching hallway ahead of him.

“Sombra, Widow?” Rat said, pressing the voice comm. “Hoggy wasn’t in the weight room.”

Swears in several languages.

“He’s most likely in the showers right now. I think he just left his shift in the weight room. I’m on my way there now, east hall movin’ north. Sombra, can ya lift this grate in front of me?”

“On it,” she said.

Rat’s ears perked up as he heard several heavily booted feet tramping around the corner. He reloaded, lobbing several bombs at their approaching shadows, banking them off the corner. Screams rang out with the sounds of the explosions and then silence.

“Heh,” Rat giggled, popping more grenades into his launcher. “Aiming’s overrated.”

Enveloped in purple pixelated light, the grate jerked to life and lifted out of the way of the path.

“Thanks, Sombra,” Rat said. “We’ve got another one up ahead.”

Ragged breathing came over the voice comm. “Tower guards are down… I’m hit,” Widow breathed out, voice pinched in agony.

“You’re hit?” Sombra’s voice followed hers, urgent. “Are you okay? Amélie, talk to me!”

“Ahh!” Widow’s voice hitched like she had pressed a finger to the wound. “I've probably had worse. Just… be fast.”

“You hear that, Rat?” Sombra said as the next grate raised. “We have to move quickly.”

“Quick as I can,” Rat said, skidding to the end of the hallway. The damp, musty smell of the shower hit him, along with the subtle sound of running water. One last grate blocked the entrance to the showers, no doubt keeping prisoners in place when lockdown was activated. “I’m at the showers, I need one more grate lifted, Sombra. I’ll let you know if I have-”

A shot rang out from only a couple feet away. A bullet impacted him, sending him stumbling back to face his attacker: an armored guard, one not taken down by his casually lobbed grenades. Rat reached down to his hip where he felt the impact, relief flooding over him as he realized it had ricocheted off his leg support.

“Knew these would be good for somethin’!” He laughed, readying his launcher towards the guard.

The man, however, was already on the move, zig-zagging towards Junkrat, determined not to be caught in the grenade range, knowing Rat couldn’t blast him up close without hurting himself. He threw his body against Rat with a crunch of metal on metal, slamming him back into the wall. Rat’s head spun as it struck the surface and the guard pointed his pistol at him, grin spreading across his face like he had the Rat trapped.

Barely audible over their struggle, Junkrat detected a familiar sound: Roadhog’s bare feet slapping against a tile floor. Rat loved to tease him for how heavy his footfalls were, how he could never sneak up on anyone even if he wanted to. He’d recognize the sound anywhere. A smile almost crept up on his lips, but he bit it back, instead letting out defeated whimper. He dropped his launcher to the ground with a clatter, raising his hands slowly up above his head.

Roadhog’s deep voice bellowed from behind the grate, booming and ferocious.

The guard jerked towards the sound allowing Rat to exploit the moment of distraction, sinking his teeth into the guard’s neck and tearing back. A scream gurgled out, hand struggling to stop the spurting blood. Rat’s metal fist collided with the man’s jaw, knocking him back against the wall, sinking down. Peg leg planting beside the bruised face, Rat stomped his heavy boot down onto his neck until he stopped twitching.

Roadhog.

There he stood behind the grate, a small excuse for a towel slung around his waist. Powerful Roadhog stood pulled up to his full, intimidating height, fingers clinging to the grate that separated them. He stared into Rat’s eyes, unafraid but uncertainty read across his face. Rat’s heart dropped out of his chest at the sight of him: glimmering sheen of water across his skin, his face bared to the world, grey stubble coming in thicker across his wide jaw with a fresh cut on his lip, silver hair slick and pulled back, a strand or two out of place. Rat couldn’t help his eyes as they dragged across his body, taking note of how much stronger those thick arms were since the last time they held him.

“Sombra, the-” Rat said, wiping blood from his mouth, not taking his eyes off Hog.

“I got it, I got it.” The metal grate spring to life and lifted up.

Barely realizing what he was doing over the thrumming of his heart in his ears, Rat crossed the threshold, stepping over the thoroughly decimated body, until he was right in front of his bodyguard. Their gaze remained locked together as Rat reached up to caress the curve of his cheek where the stubble met his fluffy sideburns. Hog exhaled, leaning into the touch, breath warming down Rat’s wrist as the other hand, the unfamiliar black prosthetic, pressed to the scarred side of Hog’s face. Rat was like a blind man trying to learn a face as he traced his fingers along the lines and ridges, petting the burn scar, catching his thumb on his bottom lip and moving down to his shoulders and his hairy chest with strengthened muscle below the fat. This whole time Hog’s eyes scanned Rat’s body endlessly like he didn’t fully believe he was real, like he was an apparition that would vanish if he took his gaze off him. Roadhog lifted a hand cautiously to Rat’s waist, wanting nothing more than to touch his partner, to feel and believe that he was real. This contact, the spark that jolted between them, ripped Rat from whatever spell had ensnared him. He stepped back with a small gasp, eyes leaving Roadhog’s, memories of the past months flooding back and snapping him out of his trance. Rat pressed a finger to his ear. “I’ve got Hog, we’re headin’ yer way.” He hefted the launcher from the floor and propped it against his shoulder. “C’mon,” his voice was rough and breathless. “We gotta get outta here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm so excited! I hope you guys are too, cuz shit's going down now. Your comments and feedback have been so wonderful and I really appreciate them!
> 
> Thanks to @VolatileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!
> 
> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Edit: Check out Armatageshanks' [amazing fanart](http://armatages.tumblr.com/post/166047198988/fanart-for-the-most-wonderful-latest-chapter-of) of Rat getting ready to launch the assault on the prison!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking out of prison is easy when you have access to heavy explosives, but it certainly isn’t painless.

Rat spun on his peg, like he was about to saunter away without another word when Hog reached out and closed his fingers around his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“You're hurt,” Hog said, finally finding his voice. Blood coated Rat’s face, chest, stomach- a painfully familiar image.

“Me hurt?” Rat cackled, peeling his black shirt off his chest and flapping it to accelerate the drying blood. “Never! This blood belongs to the poor blokes who tried to stand in my way.”

“You were shot.”

“Oh that, lucky break I got.” Rat propped his foot up against Hog and took his hand, bringing it down to feel the metal supports on his legs. “Bounced off my robo-legs. I'm only ‘bout a quarter man left. They're gonna make me register as an Omnic any day now.”

Rat spoke lightly with his crooked grin beaming up at Hog, but there was a tenseness to his words and his body shook with an unusual intensity as he fumbled to reload his grenade launcher.

“We’re on a timer, Hogs. Widow’s been shot and we gotta get out.” Rat’s eyes gave one last pass up and down Hog’s body. “I brought ya a change of clothes. Left ‘em on the plane though. Didn’t think ya’d need them so soon.”

Widow? A plane? They would have to fill him in on the details of this breakout plan. He had no idea what they went through to get here. Hog tightened the knot on his towel, patting it to show he was secure enough. A clanking chain wound up and secured at Rat’s side caught Hog’s attention.

“Is that for me?” He jabbed a big finger at the hook.

“Oohhh right!” Rat said, remembering. Not surprising that he would be a little more scatterbrained than usual. He unfastened the hook from his hip and unlatched the mechanism from his back, holding it out. “Made ya this hook. It’s not perfect, but it’ll get the job done.”

The giant hook was comically large in Rat’s outstretched grip, but once it was in Hog’s hand, it almost looked a little too small, not as imposing as his old one. Still he appreciated the craftsmanship Rat put into it, how he weathered it himself and carved the letters HOG into the nails.

“Couldn’t very well bring yer scrapgun… well, my scrapgun. I made it. That thing weighs as much as I do!”

With a wave of his hand, Rat beckoned Hog to follow and they took off down the hallway towards the raised grates and the billowing smoke and heat. Hog couldn’t pinpoint if it was the delirium of seeing him for the first time after giving him up for dead or if it was the physical changes in Rat’s body or the fact that the crazed bomber just blasted his way through tons of concrete and bodies to get to him, but Roadhog had never been more attracted to the freak in his life. Blood dripped down from his mouth, mixing with soot as it trailed down his neck and coated his shirt and exposed stomach. And he looked healthy? Hog could barely believe it. All he wanted to do was lay him down, run his hands across every inch of his body, and tell him he’d never leave him again. He pushed the sentiments away. _No time for that, not now._

“I’m listenin’, Sombra,” Rat said, skidding to a halt with his finger to his ear, and swinging an arm out to stop Hog from bowling into him. “You left the control room. Okay, gotcha. We’re makin’ our way to the… it’s all on fire? Oh shit… Hungary has a military? Oh, the European Coalition… they’re inbound. Okay.” He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. “You get on the plane as soon as ya can and leave. Okay… kay… we’ll rendez-vous with ya there. Tell Widow I used a French word… rendez-vous… What did she say? She wants ta kill me, okay, I shoulda figured, glad she’s still alive though. Tell her that. No? Okay, fine. Over.”

Rat turned back to Hog with a sheepish grin. “So it turns out, a lot of the building is on fire from my bomb! Rec yard where they were supposed to pick us up is a beautiful blazin’ inferno right now. Not safe for them to stay. Who woulda guessed?”

A hardlight tablet appeared in Rat’s hand, screen stretching into a map. If there was a moment where Hog knew for sure Rat had changed, it was this one: when Rat expertly maneuvered the tech to show Hog where they were, where they were going. Rat- who once could barely figure out if their tablet was recording or find reviews for take-out food.

“Ya read me, Hog?” Rat said, waving his hand in front of Hog’s face. Hog realized he had blanked out into his own mind while Rat was describing their adapted plan.

“I’ll follow you,” Hog replied, not wanting to make him repeat himself.

A bushy eyebrow crooked up at him, but Rat shut down the map and pocketed it again. “We gotta leave through the east side, head towards the tree coverage. Once we've made it to the woods, they’ll pick us up when we get to a clearing. Sombra says there are some military-type blokes waitin’ out there, guns out, cocks out and all that. Figure they want some of us?”

_Us._ Roadhog takes a deep breath, rattling up from his lungs. He could tell Rat was trying not to look concerned, looking away and not doting on him as he normally did when he heard Hog having a hard time breathing. Sirens still roared in their ears, warning the occupants of the prison about the litany of dangers assaulting the prison. The stink of the burning building began to overpower them, flames appearing at the far end of the hall near where the weight room had been.

“Ahhh, I’ve missed that smell,” Rat said, taking in a deep breath before motioning for Hog to follow him in the opposite direction. “This building’s really goin’ up in flame! I guess you can thank 20th century building codes for that!”

Rat babbled on, needing to fill the air with his voice, saying not much of substance and not much directly to Hog. Hog knew him to show is emotions in strange ways. Nervous talking was definitely one of them. It was fine though, they didn’t have time to sort through emotions and feelings right now. The way ahead was clear, all prison staff and personnel had already had made their way to the exits.

“Oh and Sombra overrode the cell locks. Said she didn’t want all these prisoners dyin’ in a fire.”

“That complicates things,” Hog commented. Additional people and potentials for trouble were always _great_ additions to a plan.

“They don’t have weapons,” Rat said, placing two mines on grates up ahead. “They won’t be able to do much in the way of hurtin’ us.” Thumb slammed down on the detonator barely before Hog could get to safety, blowing a wide hole in the barrier. Rat scampered through it and halted as the hall ahead ended in a T. He flipped open his map, nodded to himself and began placing mines on the wall directly in front of him, humming an absent-minded tune. Hog had to bend the metal grate with his hands, but he managed to fit through, cautiously inspecting the rooms and corridors ahead for danger.

Roadhog wished he could be in Rat’s head right now. Junkrat was usually easy to read, wearing emotions like a badge of honor. But sometimes he managed to paint on so many layers of lies and obfuscation that it became impossible to tell what emotions lay beneath outward cheeriness. Things between them weren’t going to be instantly as they were before the accident, Hog knew that. He just couldn’t figure out from observing the man exactly how bad it was going to be.

Shouting and scuffling echoed down the corridor from a turn they didn’t take. Hog readied his hook and strode towards the sound, keeping a careful eye on Rat as he worked to make one last blast to the outside world. At least a dozen prisoners were rattling a grate blocking their path. Upon seeing Roadhog, they all at once started shouting in a dozen different languages.

“We’ve got company, boss!” He yelled back to Rat. “Prisoners trapped up ahead!”

“Let ‘em out!” Rat’s shaky hands moved with practiced expertise, linking wires to mines. “Make sure there’s no funny business and they can go free. Could use some of ‘em to go through the hole before us,” he added quietly.

The hook soared out of Hog’s hand, the clattering of the chain unfurling like a long-forgotten melody in his ears. It latched onto a hole in the barrier. To the uproarious shouts of joy from the prisoners, Roadhog braced himself and yanked back on the chain with all of his power behind it. The metal groaned in protest as he unhinged it entirely from the wall and cast it aside with a grunt. He almost didn’t want to look over, knowing Rat was probably ignoring him, preoccupied with setting his charges. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rat had turned away from his explosives to face him, mouth agape, arms dropped to his side. With no mask to hide behind, Hog’s grin was unabashed as he witnessed Rat shake his whole body out in an attempt to refocus himself.

“Not bad for a man in a towel!” Rat managed to taunt him, more out-of-breath than he was before.

The charging group of prisoners stopped abruptly as Hog held out an intimidating hand (as intimidating as a man willing his towel not to slip off could be). “You’ll get out,” he growled, hoisting the hook menacingly. “We’re blowing out the wall. If anyone moves before I say, I’ll spill your guts.”

The few English speakers nodded vigorously, passing the warning on to others. Oppressive smoke began billowing down the hall and the men shifted restlessly, coughing and covering their faces. Finally, Rat finished his work and strode back towards the group. Some of the prisoners stepped back at the sight of the deranged, blood-covered bomber.

“That wall is comin’ down, mates!” He gestured to the concrete laced with charges. “Outside is yer path to freedom. When I give the countdown, yer gonna run like hell through the hole and for the treeline. It’s gonna be dangerous but this is the only shot you have. Got it?”

The group nodded vigorously, not like they had much say in the matter. Hog retied his towel and muttered a prayer to anyone who was listening.

“All right! Who’s ready for some fireworks?” Rat pulled himself up to his full height, detonator held aloft, strong and fearsome with determination drawing hard lines on his face.

“THREE.”

_Almost to freedom._

“TWO.”

_We can rebuild our lives. We can fix this_.

“ONE.”

The heat from the explosion radiated back on them, almost too hot to be bearable, but it subsided instantly, leaving a large, smouldering hole in the wall. Dust and dirt fell from the ceiling as the building shuddered from the impact. The prisoners had no hesitation as they charged forward through the hole. Roadhog and Junkrat weren’t far behind, but they did lag back, making sure the other prisoners were first.

Green and blue, the colors of the outside world: Hog could see them ahead. Grass, trees, leaves, the blue sky peering through overcast clouds, it had never looked more beautiful. It almost distracted him and kept him from doing his job, but screams from people ahead dragged his attention back.

Three armored cars, a dozen prison officers and armed guards all awaited them, though they had barricaded the actual east exit door. They should have known better. Junkrat was not the type to use doors. Despite catching them off-guard, they managed to readjust and rain bullets at the escaping prisoners. Hog instinctively body-blocked Junkrat, keeping the smaller man behind his mass. A growl came from Rat, muttering about how his bodyguard was blocking his shots, but Hog put a big hand on his back, pushing him to continue sprinting for the treeline.

Annoying stings like bees zapped against his back and shoulder, adrenaline telling his brain that bullet wounds were nothing but a nuisance and his body could keep moving. He had taken much worse than this before, hadn’t he? Every stab of pain was one less that Rat had to take. It was welcome, brought unfiltered laughter to his lips. Again and again, metal pierced his skin, lodging in the thick muscle.

“We’re almost there, Hog!” Rat shouted from his side, worry lacing his voice as they charged for the trees. New blood splattered against Rat’s face. Hog knew it was his own.

Half of original group of prisoners still sprinted ahead of them, some unhit, some powering through injuries. Hog hazarded a glance behind to see even more prisoners pouring from the hole they had left, creating new distractions for the security forces trying to stop the flow of escapees.

The looming rows of trees were suddenly upon them, their salvation and only hope of getting out of this alive. Gunfire still roared from prison, but the cover provided by the trees was enough to keep them out of immediate danger. The canopies overhead cast them into dim light, near darkness on this cloudy day. The other prisoners had scattered off in all directions, leaving them alone with their ragged breathing.

“You’re all right, Hog,” Rat’s voice called out in front of him. Hog hadn’t even realized he had come to a halt, wavering on his feet. “Just a few tiny bullets.” He could see his partner ahead, a little blurry but his hands outstretched, beckoning him forward. “We gotta get to the clearing. Sombra said it’s right ahead. They can pick us up.”

The warm and cold hands closed around one of his, tugging him forward. Those hands, tiny against his own. Even when he didn’t recognize one of them, the black metal one, the pressure from its fingers was unmistakably Junkrat, the way the pinky clinked anxiously against crease in Hog’s hand, like it was searching for one of his rings to latch onto. Hog could write a novel about Rat’s hands, about how much he missed them and how grateful he was that they were leading him forward through this fuzzy-looking forest.

It was impossible to tell how far they had gone or what words were spilling out of Rat’s mouth but Hog felt himself be lowered to the ground. Grass around him, stinging his back, legs and arms. Numbness consumed his back, like it had been lifted entirely from him.

“Shoulda brought the damn Hogdrogen.” Rat swore to himself as he eased Hog down to the ground. “Left it on the fuckin’ plane with yer damn clothes. Sombra- do you come in?”

His voice. Roadhog smiled wistfully, eyes half-closed, dropping a hand around Rat’s shoulder. A voice like nails on a chalkboard that somehow he fell in love with. God it could be grating, especially when he was in a bad mood, but not now. It was the softest Rat voice he had ever heard, cooing gently to him as he tried to sit up.

“C’mon,” Rat urged Hog to scooch backwards and sit against a tree to try to minimize dirt in his wounded back. “They’re coming, Hog, they’re comin’. Hey-” A smack to his cheek as he tried to close his eyes. “Stay awake! No sleepin’ on the fuckin’ job.” Real panic sat behind the harsh words.

“Keep me awake then,” Hog muttered, bringing his eyes up to meet Rat’s. Those orange eyes. How they had unnerved him when they first met, pierced through his soul. He came to long for their wide-eyed gaze and how they lit up whenever they saw him. Hog had given up everything to keep the light in them.

Dropping down into the space between Hog’s legs, Rat was careful not to touch any of his wounds as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Warm lips, tasting of blood and spent matches, pressed against his, lightly at first. Hog hummed against his mouth, pushing deeper into the kiss, heavy hands settling on narrow hips. Rat’s tongue slid into his mouth, entwining with his. Hog couldn’t bring himself to care about the taste or that his lungs felt like they were going to give out or the blood spilling down his back. Rat was here, that’s all that mattered, pressing kisses down the side of his face, across his jaw, giggling into the scratchy stubble against his lips. Hog ran his fingers up and down Rat’s spine, noting how it protruded a little less than it used to as he pushed up the back of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be fine, Hoggy."

Sharp pain began blossoming along Hog’s back. Adrenaline was wearing off. Shifting with a groan, Hog struggled against the growing agony.

“They’ll be here any minute.” Rat pulled back, forcing optimism into his voice. “I’ve got a whole bag fulla Hogdrogen waitin’ for ya. Well… I’m calling it Ratrogen ‘cause I made it. But it’s not for me. It’s for you. And I didn’t bring it. Stupid, stupid Rat.” Rat struck his forehead with his palm before realizing he wasn’t helping the situation. “But it’s okay.” He pressed his fingers back against Hog’s cheeks. “You’re gonna be fine. I didn’t get this far for my big pig to drop dead on the finishline. No, sir.”

Hog nodded his head slowly, eyes crossing as they tried to focus on Rat.

“You’ve had a lot worse, right? Remember the time ya drunk drove yer mech into Queen’s palace? I had to bail you out but you were pretty fucked up.”

A breathy laugh followed by gurgling coughs. “Rat, that was you. I had to… save you and I got shot in the ass.”

“Ohhh,” Rat said, rubbing up and down Hog’s arms as he searched for the memory. “That’s right! You were really hurt but the Hogdrogen healed ya right up.”

“Yeah,” Hog said. He hadn’t been as busted up as he was now, but he understood why Rat picked out that memory. “Healed me fast enough so I could kick your ass.”

Just a second, Hog bargained with himself. He needed just a second to close his eyes, rest and fight back the pain. A sharp tug to his hair brought him back with a gasp. Rat’s orange eyes were pressed up to his.

“Not gonna let you, ya hear me?” Arms encircled his head and cradled it to Rat’s chest. Hog could feel his partner’s heart pounding, but he relished to know that thumping meant Rat was alive. He was alive and he was here and that’s all that mattered.

A whirling overhead, the leaves rustling as the air whipped around. The babbling coming from his Rat changed from worry to relief as he sprang to his feet, hooting and waving his arms to summon the plane down to them. The buzzing and roaring hunk of metal touched down in the center of the clearing ahead of them, but Hog couldn’t open his eyes long enough to ascertain the features.

“I’m gettin’ yer bag from the ship,” Rat said, crouching and pressing his forehead to Hog’s to make sure he had his attention. “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. Not like ya could!” He sprinted off with a cackle.

Now he could close his eyes, rest just a little bit. He couldn’t wait for it, his first sleep after getting Junkrat back, feeling that bony body nestled up against him, getting woken up five times a night by him twitching and flailing. He wondered what Talon beds were like, if Rat even used one at all. Half the time, Junkrat would curl up under his workbench or at the foot of the bed or wherever he dropped his tired body. It would be nice to sleep anywhere that wasn’t a prison bed even here in the forest with the grass and the insects and trees...

Metal and leather was forced into his mouth and over his nose, a strap snapped behind his head. His eyes ripped open to two outlines, one shaped like Rat, one like a woman. The Rat-shaped blob produced a yellow cannister and clicked it into place against the implement in his mouth.

“I’m gonna count to three and yer gonna take the biggest breath of yer life, ‘kay, Hoggy? Nod that ya hear me.”

Hog moved his head up and down, tears prickling in his eyes.

“One… two… THREE!”

A fist slammed against Hog’s back, pain spiking out from it and jolting him into taking a deep inhale. Chemicals flooded his lungs, spreading out through all his limbs. Dozens of chunks of metal were pushed from his back as the healing gas closed up the new wounds. Bullets clinked together as they hit the forest floor. He let loose a roar of agony as the air entered half-closed gashes in his skin. Sombra in black Talon gear and concern written across her face came sharply into view. She leaned Hog forward from the tree slightly to get a better look at the wounds.

“Wounds are about half-closed here, Rat. I think he needs another.”

“Gotcha!” Rat produced a second cannister, pressing it into the mask that only covered Hog's mouth. “One more breath for me, Hogs.”

At this point, Hog was conscious enough to take his own deep breath, holding a hand up to the mask and inhaling deeply. Once he felt the gas do its work, closing up wounds, he pulled the mask down around his neck.

“Looking much better,” Sombra said, moving in front of Hog with her hands on his shoulders. “This is a lot right now, Hog, I know. But you have to get up and on the plane with us.”

Shots, screams, vehicles echoed through the air, not too far off. Security officers had certainly moved into the forest by now, attempting to hunt down any and all loose prisoners. They had to move fast.

Hog grunted in agreement, letting Sombra and Rat support under his arms as he heaved to his feet. The gas spread a foggy high throughout his body, pain still present on his back, but it was much more manageable. They carefully guided him up the ramp to the waiting plane. Everything was blurry as he surveyed the cabin, trying his best to take in the new surroundings as his eyes adjusted to seeing the world again. To the right was a round table with all manners of maps and planning documents spread across it, coffee, bench bolted to the wall. Off to the left were several seats with secure straps for landing and takeoff. A blue-skinned woman slumped in one of the seats, hand pressed against her side. Widowmaker- Hog recognized her from TV and from the occasional selfie Sombra would send. She never looked happy in any of them. As soon as they were onboard the ship, Sombra ran over to kneel in front of the woman.

The ship shuddered to life, causing Hog to steady himself against the wall as it lifted off into the air. His legs were unsteady from the massive amount of drugs and come down off the adrenaline. The world spun as he watched out the window, clearing the treeline and gathering speed into the sky, leaving the smoldering prison a ruin on the horizon. He was really leaving, soon all this would be a distant place and a distant memory. Never again. He’d been in prison in his youth and for a short time with Rat, each time knowing he might end up back there. Not again.

A pair of enormous black pants flew in his direction. Rat had plucked them out from the dumped contents of his backpack, extra cans of Hogdrogen scattering across the floor. Gratefully, Roadhog moved into a semi-private corner of the plane and swapped his towel out for the pants. As he tied them up and tried calm his breathing, shaky hands stroked up and down his back, feeling wounds that were no longer there. Roadhog turned around as Junkrat withdrew his hands. Their gaze locked, really seeing each other.

"Ya aren't allowed to scare me like that," Rat frown up at him, anxiously chewing on his metal finger. 

Hog let out a huff. "You wouldn't have been able to leave me for dead, would you?" Maybe this hadn't been the wisest thing to say at this moment, as a flash of rage lit in Rat's eyes.

Rat was about to open his mouth when Sombra called out to them.

“Can I get you two over here quickly?” She was muttering to herself in Spanish. Hog and Rat held their stare for another strained moment before silently agreeing there was another time for this discussion.

They approached Sombra who had spread out the entirety of the plane's first aid kit across the floor.

“It’s one bullet,” Sombra said, picking at her cybernetics and nodding her head towards Widow. “But this flight home will be unbearable for her. I was hoping there was something we could do.”

“Hogdrogen,” Roadhog said flatly. He knew it was the only thing that might give her some relief.

Sombra nodded, eyebrows knotting in concern. “That’s what I was thinking. We have some pain management tools here, but nothing that will get the bullet out save for me going in with a pair of tongs and fishing it out.” She glanced back at Widow who stared blankly at the floor. “I’ve seen what your gas can do.”

“A whole can would definitely kill her,” Rat plucked a cannister off the ground, flipping it around. “We’d have to be careful but I’ve done it before though. Hog knows how much she should have.”

“Convincing her is the hard part,” Sombra said. “I brought it up shortly after she was hit but she was not having it.” Sombra dropped her voice low, leaning in towards Hog. “Could you talk to her with me?”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“I know. But you know how to use the stuff, can let her know it’s safe.”

“Oh it’s definitely not safe,” Rat piped up beside them, tossing the can back and forth, loudly clinking it against his metal hand.

“You-” Sombra pointed at him with a scowl, snatching the can out of the air. “Sit down. You’re not needed for this. You’re going to make it worse.”

“Me?” Rat was offended, looking back from her to Hog and back again. “Widow and I are best of friends! Have been since last Thursday when she told me I didn’t smell as much like a dumpster.”

“Rat,” Hog could tell Rat was exceedingly high-strung right now, even for Junkrat’s standards. “Go wash yourself off.”

He grumbled and muttered to himself, but Rat did listen, slinking away from them to run the sink, splashing water up onto his face and neck. Satisfied with his half-assed cleaning, he sat down at the planning table and dipping his finger into a cold mug of coffee to make art on old assault plans.

A grin crossed Sombra’s lips. “I’ve missed you, Hog. Haven’t had the time to say that yet, still don’t really now, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thanks.” It had been a long time, apart from their time communicating through tablet and almost two years since Los Muertos and the Dorado heist. Sombra was a good friend and seeing her now, despite the circumstances, was a relief. “You start it up with Widow, I’ll talk if you need me.”

Sombra nodded and approached Widow, crouching down in front of her.

“Amélie, this is Roadhog.”

The wounded sniper lifted her head to offer him a pained sneer. “So this is the one? Hope you were worth it.”

“Hog just got hit with about forty bullets on his way out of the prison. Spin around for us, would you, Hog?”

Obediently, Roadhog turned around to show his back, free of bullets with the wounds mostly closed.

“He’s like a hunk of gyro meat spinning around in a halal cart!” Junkrat shouted, giggling from the other side of the ship. All three of his companions scowled at him until he ducked his head back into working on his coffee art.

Roadhog knelt down slowly beside Sombra, his knees groaning as he did. He popped the mask off from around his neck, examining it for the first time. Junkrat made it with the sole purpose of delivering him Hogdrogen when he needed it, not meaning it to replace his actual mask. The triangular mouthpiece fitted over the nose, mouth and chin, made of leather, metal and mesh. It was fearsome in its own right, not trying to match the style of the one he had lost.

“Non non non non,” Widow shook her head as she saw Hog remove the mask from his neck. “Keep that away from me.”

“Amélie-” Sombra dug her fingers into Widow’s knees. “He used those chemicals to heal his wounds. Other people have used them, not just Hog. Rat’s used them before too.”

“Him?” She cried, jabbing a finger in Rat's direction. “He's the example you're using to convince me this isn’t insanity? Huffing unsafe chemicals makes a lot of sense to explain how he is.”

“I'm right here!”

“Let us see the wound,” Sombra said, realizing that may not have been the best plan of approach.

Begrudgingly, Widow lifted the side of her shirt. Dark red blood had slowly seeped from the wound, much less than Hog was expecting.

“Her heartrate is slower than a normal person,” Sombra said quietly to Hog, dabbing the blood away.

“She’ll need even less of this then,” Hog said, taking the can from her.

“Still here, not dead,” Widow groaned through gritted teeth.

Sombra tapped her fingernails against her chin until an idea lit up her eyes.

“What if Rat and I did it first? To let you know it’s safe and so you’re not the only one?”

“That is an idiotic idea,” Roadhog said. He knew idiotic ideas better than anyone.

“I love it!” Rat said, leaping to his feet and running over, no longer able to act like he wasn’t a part of this. “I haven’t been high in how long…” He narrowed his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. “50 hours!” Dropping to the ground, Rat squeezed in between Sombra and Hog as they all crouched in front of Widow.

Hog had shared his precious Hogdrogen with few people over the years, but he could tell from Widow’s expression, her eyes darting between them and her grimace as she clutched her side, that she was going to take the gas no matter how much it disgusted her. They always took the gas if they were desperate enough.

A smile crossed Widow’s lips and she let out a weak laugh. “So you all get to suffer with me?” She winced as she moved her hand from her wound. “D’accord, I’ll do it.”

Sombra sighed, relieved with a twinge of apprehension. She helped Widow pull herself into a more comfortable position. “I’m not going to regret this, am I, Hog?”

He could only offer her a shrug. “We have to learn to live with the decisions we make.”

“Prison has made you so wise,” Sombra scoffed, snatching the mask out of his hand and fitting it over her mouth. “All right, hand it over. Let’s get this over with.”

The following puff-pass-puff-pass-puff procedure was a team-building exercise to say the least: Rat scolding Sombra as she jammed the canister too roughly into the mask, Widow panicking and trying to duck away from Rat as he put the mask over her face, Hog watching over all this with amused supervision, making sure no one was about to knock themselves out. After Rat and Sombra took their recreational puffs, the team focused on Widow as she pressed the mask to her face, fighting back her disgust and breathing in the remainder of the gas. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the wound closed up, pushing the bullet out, her blue skin mending with just a small scar left behind.

“It worked!” Sombra leapt to her feet, almost losing her balance before hugging Widow’s head against her chest.

“Uhh,” Widow’s eyes were groggy but she pressed her hand against her stomach to feel the healed skin. “Extraordinaire…”

“I did a good job, didn’t I? Made it all myself.” Rat said, puffing out his chest, fists on his hips.

“Yeah, you did.” Roadhog pulled himself to his feet, a hand on his bad knee. Foggy-eyed Junkrat reacted viscerally to the compliment, his whole body tightening out of the confident pose he had struck.

“Dios mios, this shit is no joke,” Sombra said, sinking into a seat beside Widow. “You always get this tired? And fuzzy? I feel fuzzy.”

“You get used to it.” Hog had to admit he enjoyed seeing all of them high and confused.

“Perfect,” she pulled her knees up to her chest. “Got about two hours to sleep. Wake me when we’re home.”

Widow seemed to take her cue, closing her eyes and attempting to sleep off the chemical high. Shuffling across the floor, Hog searched about the cabin for a place to rest himself. The built-in seats with safety harnesses were certainly not big enough to fit him. He approached the planning table where Rat had left his coffee art (detailed depictions of himself, Hog, Widow and Sombra. Hog smiled to note that his tits were the biggest), and lowered himself with some small difficulty onto the bench.

A warm body pressed against his side. Junkrat sidled onto the bench next to him, upending his bag of bombs on the table, some grenades bouncing across the surface as he began to take inventory. Trying not to let the sense of relief and safety building in his stomach make him too comfortable, Hog let out a deep breath. “Can we talk, Rat?”

“Not right now,” his voice was distant as he counted. “Our kids are sleepin’. Don’t wanna wake ‘em.” Rat lifted his head to read the worry on Hog’s face. “We’ll talk when we get back. Promise, mate.”

Roadhog gave a grunt, wanting to run his fingers through Rat’s hair in a force of habit. It looked softer than he remembered, maybe even a little darker at the roots, some of the bald spots bearing fuzz. But he held back, unable to shake the tension that hung between them, even despite their moment of near-death intimacy. He closed his eyes, hoping the familiar clinking and tinkering of his partner would lull him into an uneasy rest. _Everything is going to be fine… everything is going to be fine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I'm committed to seeing this fic through to the end, so you really help me keep going. For anyone wondering, this fic is not going to end with this prison break. As you can tell, they have unfinished business to sort out between between the two of them and with Talon! We should be more than half way done at this point, but the exact number of chapters is somewhat flexible. You guys know what's coming next? You totally know. ;)
> 
> Thanks to @VolatileSoloiste for beta-reading for me!
> 
> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat isn't ready to talk.

Roadhog was surprised he didn’t have whiplash from the whirlwind of events of the day so far: beating down a bathroom’s worth of inmates, seeing Rat for the first time since leaving him for death, proceeding to blast their way out the prison, taking a hailstorm of bullets, evacuating onto a Talon ship, getting a legendary sniper high, flying back to Talon HQ with an unbearable tension lingering between him and Rat. Now Talon HQ stood outside the window, an imposing fortress, rising out of the forest to mark the landscape with its charcoal brutalism. Rat didn’t say much as he fidgeted by his side. Most of his words over the past two hours he spoke to Sombra. The two of them could babble on about inane bullshit until heat death of the universe. Occasionally they would try to loop Widow into the conversation but fresh from her own brush with death, she was just as reticent as Hog.

The four of them disembarked in the Talon hangar upon their arrival (after all agree amongst themselves that their pilot deserved a raise for his role in this successful clusterfuck). Immediately, several Talon members approached the group, having been warned of their imminent arrival via the ship’s comms. Sombra intercepted the group, prompting a rather animated argument that Junkrat eagerly joined. Widow had already strode off with a medic, happy to be done with Operation Swinetime. Roadhog was in a fog, words and movements of the people around him fading into the background. He couldn’t be sure whether it was from mental strain or the overdose of Hogdrogen or something else. The only thing he was able to focus on, pulling him out of his haze, was Junkrat. The way he gestured wildly, his half a fucking shirt riding even farther up his back, twisted something embarrassingly longing in Hog’s gut.

Suddenly all the eyes were on him. Someone must have asked him a question.

“Do ya need a doctor, Hoggy?” It was Rat’s voice, repeating the question when he picked up on Hog’s hesitation. “I was tellin’ ‘em the Hogdrogen fixed ya up right as rain, but some people don’t believe me.”

“Mr. Rutledge,” an older woman who appeared to be in the center of the argument spoke up. “I’m Dr. Schiller, Jamison’s doctor, I’ve treated him over the past few months. I really think it’s necessary for me to treat you as soon as possible. From the reports, it sounds like you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Hoggy’s got blood to spare,” Junkrat said with far too much confidence for someone who knew nothing about medicine. “The Hogdrogen replaced it jus’ fine.”

“Jamison,” she said, tapping angrily onto her hardlight tablet. “Unless it uses the most current nanobiotic technologies, I highly doubt-”

“It does, I swear on me left arsecheek,” Junkrat interrputed her. He nudged Hog with his pointy elbow. “Tell her!”

“It does.” Hog grunted. He had no fucking clue if it used the latest nanobiotic technology but it had kept him safe and alive all these years taking bullets for Junkrat.

“You could still use an immediate medical examination.” Dr. Schiller insisted, folding her tablet into thin air. “I don’t stake my reputation on questionable drugs from the far reaches of the world.”

“Not lettin’ you put yer doctory hands all over him," Rat snarled. "He just got here!”

“How ‘bout this,” Sombra said, laying hands on both their shoulders. “We compromise. Hog doesn’t seem like he’s about to drop dead. Let him and Rat have the night to get settled, Hog’ll see you first thing in the morning. Está bien?”

Dr. Schiller shook her head, exasperated and defeated,

“That’s not how medical care works, it doesn’t until a more appropriate occasion,” she said, closing up her hardlight tablet. “But I cannot force you.” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at Junkrat’s chest. “You need to start thinking about someone other than yourself now, Jamison. You’ve been your only focus during your recovery and that’s expected. But it’s not just you anymore.” With that, she turned and left the hangar, heels clicking against the metal floor.

Junkrat wanted to give a witty retort but nothing was coming to him. “Well, it’s ‘bout time you…” God, why was he shouting? “Got yer psychology degree with that brilliant evaluation!”

Sombra looped her arms into theirs, pulling them both from the hangar before they could cause any additional embarrassment. Even if Hog had been 100% coherent, there’s no way he would have been able to navigate through these indecipherable hallways again. With his overwhelmed confusion, it would have been impossible. Talon’s headquarters seemed to pride itself on its commitment to its brand of dark sterility. It certainly did not mesh with him and Rat; dirty, chaotic, disorderly. Hog knew this would not be the easiest transition, becoming part of Talon, but they could make it work. They had to.

The tension between Rat and Hog was practically visible, like waves of heat through the air. Feeling bold, Hog let his hand gently rest on the exposed skin on the small of Junkrat’s back. He jolted slightly, jerking his head towards him, but didn’t push him away. The taut muscles tensed beneath his skin as Roadhog rubbed his thumb up and down. He was so touch-starved for Rat that just this physical contact between them was already boiling arousal low in his gut.

Sombra glanced over her shoulder, like one of those nodes on her head was a sexual tension detector. She gave a coy smile and motioned ahead.

“Just down this elevator and we’ll be there.”

It wasn’t until the bell dinged and the doors opened that Roadhog realized his feet wouldn’t let him get on the elevator. Sombra and Rat had already entered, looking at him strangely but he couldn’t will himself to move forward. It was too small, the walls of the elevator closing in, threatening to crush him.

“I… uh…” He took a step back and suddenly Rat was at his side, hands supporting his arm.

“C’mon, Sombra,” Rat said, motioning his head towards the door. “We can take the stairs.”

Hog was relieved neither pressed him on this. Maybe it was obvious what his problem was, but he was happy not to put it into words. He was even happier when they descended to a new floor and opened up a door marked with a dozen caution signs. For half a second, Roadhog almost thought he had stepped through a portal to Junkertown.

A room full of scrap was in sharp contrast to the rest of Talon HQ. It was more than just a place for garbage. Rat had shaped this place into something beautifully reminiscent of home, enough for nostalgia to settle in his chest. Seeing this place, he remembered his farm, remembered his workbench, his breakfast nook, mornings sitting out front with Rat shouting at people down the road, evenings spent working on projects together or exploring each other in his well-worn bed. Dozens of projects were spread around the place, attempts to rebuild their life.

“Home sweet home!” Sombra said, lingering in the doorway for a moment, typing into the air. “I’m setting an alarm on Junkrat’s tablet for tomorrow morning. Go see the doctor. Rat can take you there.”

He gave a short nod, mostly focusing on Rat as he dropped his gear. A pinch on his arm.

“I’ll come find you later, Hog,” Sombra said, having caught his attention again. “We have some catching up to do.”

Her eyes passed between the two of them several more times, like she was trying to will them to make this right. Unable to control fate and destiny with just the power of her mind (even as much as she tried), she left them alone in the scrapyard.

“We need to talk, Rat,” Hog said, barely able to form words as the sights and smells of the scrapyard overwhelmed him. “Before we-”

Rat’s hands were in his hair as he leapt into Hog’s arms. Roadhog caught him despite his surprise, supporting his ass with a single hand as Rat pressed kisses across every inch of skin he could find, lips to neck down to his chest. It was desperate, lustful, like he was trying to make up for time they could never get back.

“Never knew you to be the talkative one, mate,” Rat panted, burying his nose in Hog’s armpit and taking in a long smell. “Prison make yer brain go soft?”

“I’m serious, Rat,” Hog’s words dissolved into a groan as Rat’s flesh hand gripped his crotch, giving it a squeeze.

“Later. Lemme take care of you, Hog.” Rat pulled back, searching the room for a single flat surface. They were closest to Rat’s workbench and its piles of work-in-progress projects. Putting his arms together, Rat dragged them across the entire table, scattering everything to the floor in a clattering cacophony.

Hog was unsure about this, whether this was the correct order in which they should be doing things. Make-up sex tended to happen after the argument, not before. Then again, no one said this was make-up sex. If anything, this was “distraction from your problems” sex. However, the tightness in his pants said fuck relationship norms and let that Rat take care of him. Rat guided him over and laid him down on the uncomfortable wood table. Needy hands were all over Hog, squeezing down his arms, touching every inch of his belly until he gripped the band of his pants.

“And of course I’ve missed you too,” Rat addressed his dick directly as he pulled the pants down. He heard a soft moan from Rat and felt the younger man press his face against his pubes, taking in another long inhale. Rat always did that, could never get enough of Hog’s musk, no matter how rank or sweaty or unclean. Hog petted his fingers through Rat’s hair (it really was softer), Junkrat running his tongue from his taint to his balls. Rat had gained his trust over the years. There was a time not so long ago when the thought of giving Rat free rein in his genital region with all his overly eager gnashing teeth would have made Hog clench and never unclench again. They’d come a long way, he mused, groaning as Rat’s warm mouth sunk down on his cock. The soft slicking sound and sensation from below him threatened to spill him over right there.

“Talon not give you a bedroom here?” Hog asked, as he tried to keep himself from unconsciously moving his hips in time with Rat’s mouth, afraid of the wood table that was not meant to be sat upon.

“Ohhh, Mr. Prison Hog’s too good to fuck on my splinterin’ workbench, I see how it is.” Rat’s face popped out from below Hog’s belly, wiping drool from his mouth. “Follow me, princess, I’ll take ya to yer royal chambers.”

Hog carefully let himself down from the table, hoping nothing splintered off and stuck in his ass as Rat darted off through the scrapyard. He followed past some blown up cars, around a stack of pristine encyclopedias and into an attached room. So this is what Rat’s living quarters would look like if Hog wasn’t around. It was absolute chaos: dozens of unfinished projects laying around, stacks of grenades, mines and traps, discarded attempts at making new peglegs and a scale-replica of the prison they had just demolished.

“You’ve been busy…” Hog said, wonder in his voice as he took in his surroundings.

“Had a lot of time,” Rat’s voice was strained as he lifted the first of the three RIP-tire prototypes from the bed and tossed it to the floor. The second one set off a small explosion near the mini-kitchen, toasting one of the cabinets and the third one completely demolished the prototype prison. Roadhog thanked whatever sad deity was watching over them that none of them caused real damage.

“Whoops,” Rat giggled, as he closed his fingers around Hog’s wrist, guiding him over to sit on the bed. Eyelids heavy with lust, Rat lowered himself onto his lap, letting Hog support his back as their lips locked. There was no question who was in control here, Rat dictating their pace and their movement.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he stated, pulling Hog’s hair free from its tie. “I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

Roadhog nodded, leaning his cheek against Rat’s fingers.

“Good Hoggy.” Rat pinched both of Hog’s nipples, twisting them lightly with a grin on his face. “Not like we have much other choice. I ordered a real nice set of plugs to start training my rat hole again but Dr. Schiller intercepted my bloody package and won’t let me have it. She said nothing in me butt for four more months on account of ‘internal bleedin’', ‘severe trauma’, blah blah blah, some doctor bullshit like that. I told her I’d give her a month. She’s lucky if she’ll get that.”

Roadhog grimaced at the fact that Junkrat put sarcasm quotations around those severe health risks. “Should probably listen to your doctor.”

“Oh yeah? Well then why didn’t you go let her run her tests on ya?” Rat said with a scowl. “Since ya trust doctors so fuckin’ much.”

“I thought we weren’t doing this now,” Roadhog said, dropping his hands off Rat’s back and propping himself up on the bed.

“We’re not,” Junkrat pushed Hog’s tits together, diving down in between them and shoving Hog back on the bed.

Rat’s adoration of his tits has always been endearing. He would attempt to tease him, trying his damnedest to avoid going straight for the nipples, kneading the flesh and circling his fingers just barely touching his areolas. But at the first sign his efforts were working- a twitch of Hog’s body, a moan slipping out- Junkrat would lunge for them, tugging hard and impatient. He was much better with his mouth. Hog practically told his as much when he put his big hand on the back of Rat’s head and urged to his chest.

“Yer poor nipples, they took yer piercings.” Rat said, flicking Hog’s nipple with his tongue like the ring was there and nuzzling into Hog's flesh. “What, did they think they were gonna be weapons? Hope they didn't close up.”

Hog let himself be carried away by Rat’s worshipping mouth, the pleasure shot straight to his groin. He needed to pause this before it got too far, holding up his hands to stop Rat.

“I want to see you,” Hog said in a low purr. “Without that ridiculous outfit.” He ran a hand up Rat's thigh to his hip.

A strange wince of uncertainty flashed across his face. Cocksure, unstoppable Rat looking self-conscious? Vulnerable?

“Yeah yeah, I know. Just…” Rat fiddled with the fringe of his shirt. “This ain’t gonna be pretty and it’s certainly not gonna be the top-tier stripshow yer used to from ol’ Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes, Striptease Extraordinaire. Why don’t ya go make use of the bathroom, get yerself squeaky-clean for me?”

Practically feeling the nerves shooting off his partner, Hog gave a grunt of agreement and turned his back, offering some small amount of privacy for him to unassemble whatever contraption was keeping him up. The rest of the room was half-lived in, half-filled with discarded projects, Hog observed as he trudged towards the door Rat had pointed out. Every new thing Hog settled his eyes on sent pangs of affection to his gut. Just like in the larger scrap room, so many ways Rat had started making this room into a new home for them. While they didn’t quite have the Pachimari claw machine, Junkrat had gathered a bunch of the little plushes and stuffed them into a see-through plastic tub, jerry rigging a small crane over top to pluck them out. A small corner of the room had a rather intact television hooked up to a generator, with a lumpy couch set up in front of it. From the number of discarded styrofoam coffee cups over there, it looked like Rat preferred sleeping curled up on the couch, rather than alone in a massive bed.

The bathroom was clean, relatively speaking, only a thin layer of dust and grime, but not as bad as the rest of the place. The shower sputtered to life when he turned the knob, telling him it hadn’t often been used. He took a second to run the warming water over his body, washing blood away from disappeared bullet holes. Cleaning himself  _out_  was a bit more of a process, but he and Rat would be grateful he took the time to do it.

After wringing his hair and toweling off, Hog exited the bathroom (giving a passing thought to leaving the towel around his waist, but remembering how much time that very day he had spent in a towel, he was good to go 100% naked). Rat was fully stripped down, sitting on the bed, gripping his knees and shivering as he exhibited great self-control not to touch himself. He forced a smile to his face when he saw Hog, a little less toothy and more side-glancing and he bounded to his feet.

Hog knew Rat was going to change. You don’t go through physical trauma like he did and expect to pop back out at the end looking like you did in your prime. Somehow, Junkrat managed to look like he had been through hell and back but came out stronger and fiercer. His stomach bore a large scar that had healed well and other unfamiliar nicks and scars dotted his body. Still despite this, his chest, arms, shoulders all were stronger, muscles more defined. He had put work into his recovery, hours and hours of pain and suffering and it showed. His ribs and stomach had filled out a small amount and his usual dusting of pubic hair had come in thicker and curlier. His tanlines were gone, no longer marking out the exact location for his bandoleer and hip flask. With that, all of his skin was paler, like he hadn’t been beaten down by the sun’s rays in months. From the looks of it, the most severe damage occurred to his lower body. Given the fact that he still had to use the leg braces, he still had recovery work to be done. Hog had always loved Rat’s thighs, how strong they were from all that crouching and lifting. Muscle was building up there but hadn’t quite reached their former glory. The pegleg he kept attached, but it was new to Roadhog as well, the black twisted metal matching the new arm.

“Me cock’s still here,” Rat said, pumping it with one hand and pushing Hog to sit on the bed with the other. “Tha’s all that really matters, right?” He chewed his lip, not quite making eye contact as Hog took in the sight of his body.

Hog closed his fingers around Rat’s thighs, pulling him close. He rested his head against Rat’s chest, reveling in the feeling his skin against cheek. His massive hands ran up the backs of Rat’s legs, passing over the familiar bump lodged in the top of his right thigh and moving up to settle on his ass.

“Haven’t gotten to do my squats,” Rat said, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Probably not the tight Rat’s ass yer used to.”

“Not like you to feel self-conscious.” Hog said, giving it a squeeze.

Rat huffed. “It’s also not like me to send my body through a meatgrinder and out the other side, so excuse me if I’m not feelin’ in top form."

Hog knew a dangerous path when he walked one. He had to be careful with what he said and did. They weren’t talking now, just sex.

Pulling his head back, Hog pressed a finger between his cheeks, earning a squeal. Warm and cold hand bracing on his shoulders, Rat forced Hog onto his back, mounting up on top of him.

God, he missed this feeling, letting Rat hold him down, pressing his lithe body against his. While sometimes he liked to be the one in control, the one undoing Rat from the inside out, a huge piece of him loved to be taken, to worshipped in that special way that Rat did when he was about to push deep inside him. Rat reached over to the bedside table, slicking his fingers from what looked like an industrial sized tub of lube. First wiggling the shiny fingers at Hog, he slid down and positioned himself between Hog's legs.

“Ready for me?”

“I've been ready.”

Hog squeezed his eyes shut. He adored this sensation and not being able to see only heightened his enjoyment. First being empty, muscles twitching in anticipation, then to have Rat's skinny fingers scissor their way in. They didn't fill him up but they prepared him for what was to come, pressing him open while Rat carefully stroked his inner thighs with his metal hand. Digging his heels into the mattress, Hog opened an eye to gaze down at his partner's face grinning over his belly to gauge his reaction, satisfied with how he was making the big man squirm. When the fingers left, Hog shut them again, throwing an arm over his eyes to hide his face.

Two hands gripped into his soft thighs urging him to tilt up. Hog obeyed, feeling his breath quicken and rattle in expectation. Rat would sometimes tease him, circling the head of his cock around his hole, not quite breaching. Back when they had nothing but time and blissful ignorance. But not today, not after this long. His cock slide home and their hoarse moans chorused together. Hog unconsciously tightened up around the intrusion and the sensation overwhelmed Rat, dropping him against his stomach.

“Loosen up, mate,” Rat reached his flesh hand up to pinch his soft nipple, rolling it between his fingers. “I’m gonna last all of three pumps if ya don’t.”

Hog wanted to move, wanted to relax but he couldn’t, frozen and shorted out by the feeling of Rat inside him. He felt the finger leave his nipple and both hands grabbed his arm and heaved it off his eyes. A leather and metal implement was pushed into his mouth. For a second, he thought Rat was about to gag him, but it clicked and hissed, filling him up with the gas. It soothed its way down his throat and lungs, then spread out, relaxing his whole body. As he breathed out, Rat’s hips picked up the motion, thrusting into his loosened hole. Hog spat the mask implement out of his mouth to let out a low moan, keeping his eyes squeezed shut.

“That’s a good Hoggy,” he heard a voice that he knew was Rat’s but he almost barely recognized it, low and dripping with sex, in control. “Look at me.”

_Why are your eyes still closed? How long have you wanted to see him like this? Look at him!_

Hog peeled his eyes open and the sight of Rat thrusting into him almost overwhelmed him: sweat dripping down his carved chest, lean arms, all muscle and veins, straining as they held Hog’s legs up.

“Slow...” Hog managed to breath out, pinching Rat’s hips between his fingers.

“Ya made me love the build, didn't ya, Hoggy?” Rat groaned, forcing his pistoning hips to slow. “The boom is so much better if ya build slow and careful.”

Slapping of skin, the quiet squeaking of the bed beneath their bodies, their hurried breaths filled the room.

“Will ya talk to me, Hoggy?” The movement of Rat's hips was deliberate, dragging out each sensation on the way in and out. Rat ran his hand up through his hair, tugging on it as pleasure warmed through his body, then settled it down around Hog’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “I've missed yer voice.”

Roadhog gave a short nod, trying to control his wavering breath, toes clenched into the sheets. Rat had been quiet tonight, usually rambling on about whatever thing- sexy or unsexy- that popped into his head (one time, while crashing in a suburban home with a “for sale” sign outside, they wrote an entire grocery list while fucking in the kitchen. That was the most domestic the two had ever been).

“What do ya think…” Rat broke off into a groan, angling himself so his cock slid against Hog’s prostate. Hog let out a huff at the sickeningly sweet friction inside him, hips bucking up to meet Rat’s. Rat reveled in his ability to unravel his bigger partner, laughing low and breathy. “What do ya think of Sexy Rat 2.0?”

_I can’t imagine how much you’ve suffered to recover to this point. That nothing I can say will ever express how relieved I am that you’re here or how much I need you._

“You’re strong,” Hog pressed his thumbs into Junkrat’s stomach. “You look good.”

“What didya think ‘bout in that prison cell all alone?”

Hog’s heart twisted as he prayed this wasn’t going to take a turn.

“You.”  _All the time. Worrying about you, wishing I could see you, touch you, feeling you inside me, the feeling me inside you._

“Didya jerk it to me every day?”

“Yes.”  _I can’t come without you in my head._

“Tha’s right, mate,” Rat panted, his voice strained. “Jus’ thinkin’ about yer poor, lonely Rat.

Rat lifted one of Hog’s big hands and nestled it again his throat, throwing his head back in anticipation, tongue lolling out.  _Sunflower petals in his hair, guts spilled out, broken body. Do it, he asked you to._  Hog dropped his hand off Rat’s neck, trailing back down his chest. Did he not know? Was he really going to ask for this? After Hog had tried to choke the life out of him? Hog’s hips stopped, dropping to the bed but Rat remained unrelenting, sweating and panting as he thrusted into him.

“C’mon, Hoggy, I’m close” Rat moaned, deepening his pace, fingers digging into the bottom of his thighs. Hog’s whole body jiggled with the impact of his hips. “Ya used ta do this to me all the time when I came, remember? Didn’t think you’d forget about fuckin’ yer old Rat soon soon, no I did not.”

“I'm not doing it, Rat.” His stomach turned at the thought.  _His eyes flicking out like warm, dying lights._

“I’m askin’ ya to do one little thing for me, Hog, c’mon. Just a little squeeze.” Those eyes were pleading, desperate, struggling to focus through his pleasure. He’d slowed even more, attempting to edge himself, something Hog had never seen him do willingly. Rat didn’t know what he was asking him to do.

“I’m not doing it,” Roadhog snarled, his roiling emotions fighting against the pleasure that refused to relinquish control of his body. “Don’t ask again.”

“Why not?” Rat barked back, slapping an open hand against his belly. The pain shot through Hog, only adding to his build. A mix of pleasure and fury overtook Rat as he tried to focus down on him. “Prison did make ya soft, didn’t it, Hoggy?” He scowled, narrowing his bushy eyebrows. “I didn’t drag myself back from suckin’ Death’s fuckin’ ballsack for you to tell me you can’t fuck me how I want anymore.”

Hog couldn’t take it anymore. He wrapped his hands around Rat’s biceps and pulled him down, sinking his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. The metallic taste of blood spilled into his mouth. Rat let out a cry above him, dissipating into a trembling sob, but it didn’t have the effect Hog hoped. Hog had meant for it to push him over the edge, send him headlong into his orgasm, but Rat didn’t come, instead picking up speed and dropping down with his hands beside Hog’s head and his legs bent as he thrusted.

Hog knew Rat; he knew how his body worked, how he fucked and he certainly knew when Rat was about to push himself too far. All the signs were there: the frenzied breathing, the unhinged laughing/not laughing, the way his flesh flushed. But Roadhog was not used to the new capabilities of Rat’s body, not prepared for him to burn out so hard and so fast.

With a pained cry, Rat’s legs gave way abruptly before he could finish and he collapsed down against Hog. A pained groan left Hog’s mouth as he felt Rat’s cock roughly pull free, leaving him twitching around nothing. His weak partner slid off his stomach and curled up beside him, tremors shaking through his body. The seething anger that had been building in Roadhog over Rat’s stubbornness quickly faded as Rat shivered at his side.

“These fuckin’ legs, this fuckin’ body. I can’t even fuck you anymore.” He made a move to pull away but Hog held him fast against him.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Roadhog took a deep breath.  _This is my fault, my fucking fault_. Comforting people was never his thing. He had found a way to do it with Rat, but he knew he was out of practice. “Your body has gone through a lot of strain.” A big finger against Rat’s jaw tilted it back towards him. Rat had looked away to disguise the wetness prickling in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t finish ya… or finish in ya. I’m hopeless… broken. Even more than before.”

“Not true,” Hog said, heaving himself up. He reached over to the side table and pumped some more lube into his hand. He sat on his knees, towering above Rat as he reached behind to press a finger into himself, slicking up his hole. Rat’s orange eyes widened as he rolled onto his back.

“I’m gonna ride you,” Hog said, using the rest of his slicked hand to offer a few pumps up and down Rat’s cock. “Okay?”

Rat nodded vigorously, wiping away the corners of his eyes. The strain between them, the unspoken blame and anger, still lingered beneath the surface of their words, but they could both keep batting it back for a little bit longer. Roadhog felt his knees complain as he shifted his weight onto them, lining himself up to grind against Rat’s cock, not bringing anywhere near his full mass down on him. It was easy to get Rat back up to full attention and his cock eased back inside him with little difficulty. Petting his big fingers across Rat’s chest, Hog slid on Rat’s cock, adoring the sounds spilling out of his partner’s mouth as he gripped the bedsheets in an attempt to ground himself. He traced the scar on Rat’s belly, traveled around his waist and hips, stroked down his arms, squeezing and rubbing and loving every second of skin-to-skin contact. It brought a smile to his face remember how he longed for this while locked away and now he had it, had his Rat lying slack-jawed below him. Roadhog ghosted his fingers against Rat’s collarbones and gently touched his throat, like tenderness could wipe away what he had done to that arching neck, like it could erase bruises that had long healed but could never be taken back. The sensation, coupled with Hog clenching around him, sent Rat over the edge, arching and filling Hog up warm and wet.

Rat stayed inside him, thrusting through the final throes of his orgasm as he pumped Hog’s cock, thick and pulsing. It twisted Hog up in a pleasure he thought he would never feel again, one he had desperately tried to recreate with fingers and his fist alone in his cell. His brain went fuzzy and he couldn’t be entirely sure whether or not he shouted out any embarrassing professions as he spilled over into Junkrat’s hand, amazed he lasted all of ten seconds.

Hog collapsed beside his partner. They both lay in silence, panting for a few minutes, the smell of sweat and sex filling the room. Rat curled up with his cheek stuck to Hog’s stomach and his hand trailing up and down Hog’s thighs, mixing their cum together in gentle swirls. Hog remembered when Rat used to do that, make an even greater mess out of the bed, much to his annoyance. Rat would always assure him he’d clean it up himself. He never did. Hog tried to slow and calm his breathing, thankful for that hit of Hogdrogen. The hard part may be to come, but they had gotten through so much together. Why not this?

Sex wasn’t always a distraction for the two of them. It had been in the beginning: a distraction from the pain of life, from loneliness, from self-hate, a way to pass time, to push their physical boundaries. But somehow all those things coalesced into something more meaningful. Something undeniable, messy and dirty. Something that looked, smelled, tasted, acted like love. Something Rat called love and Hog called love when no one could hear. Something that was now so fragile that both men feared to address it, like acknowledging it would break it forever.

Now sex was a way not to say what needed to be said. Both men knew it wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t.

“We can talk now,” Hog heard Rat say, sounding like he was a million miles away as his warmth left his side.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a joy to write for you all and I've really appreciated all the words of encouragement I get for this fic! Thank you so much!
> 
> Thanks to [VolatileSoloist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloiste/pseuds/volatileSoloist) for beta-reading for me! You should check out his Kinktober fic, it's a blast. And you can also thank him for the fact that this chapter was not 4k words of graphic enema description (this is 100% a joke).
> 
> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra receives bad news from Reaper and the Junkers finally have to face the tension between them.

Smiling to herself, Sombra shut the door behind her, leaving the Junkers in their scrapyard. She leaned against the door, listening for a moment. When the only sound was a brief bit of scuffling and some muffled moans, she figured the “talking through their problems” part would come later and maybe it was a bit creepy for her to listen in. Her heels clicked softly against the tile floor as she rushed towards the hospital wing, a long walk through endlessly confusing stretches of halls. Sombra had memorized the route back to the wing and her feet carried her the way to Widow’s temporary room. Breaking news stories were already front-and-center on her screens, telling tale of unhinged Junkrat back from the dead and mysteriously in possession of a high-tech transport ship, using it to break out his longtime partner. No mention of Talon so far, which was odd to her. Only confusion and speculation dominated the airways.

Still, there was no better feeling than the satisfaction of a plan coming together. Sure, maybe the Junkers had some work to do on their relationship and an infamous Hungarian prison was a pile of burnt out rubble, but wasn’t it a net good? Got in, got out, released a couple prisoners, caused a little chaos. Oh and yes, Widow did get shot. While that wasn’t ideal, she had huffed some toxic gas, gotten a little high, healed right up. Sombra knew she had to visit her in the hospital wing as soon as possible or she’d never hear the end of it (in the form of disapproving selfies or passive aggressive texts). There was only the one small problem of-

Reaper. He loomed with his arms crossed in front of Widow’s hospital door when Sombra strode up.

“Were you just standing like that waiting for me to show up?” Sombra said, finding it hard to suppress her laughter at the preposterous image of Reaper glowering expectantly at everyone who passed, thinking Sombra might walk up at any minute.

“No…”

“Well then, I suppose you’re here to congratulate me! Congratulations accepted! I’m just going to pop in there and see my-”

“Sombra,” Reaper snarled, closing a clawed finger around her wrist as she reached for the door. “You know I’m not happy with this.”

“You, unhappy? Never!” Sombra said, pulling out of his grasp.

“That could not have gone any worse.” His voice dripped with malice.

“C’mon, Gabe. No one died- well, no one important died, we got Hog. No- Junkrat got Hog! Yay for overcoming personal obstacles, right?” She lifted her arms in the air for a double high-five, hoping that maybe insufferable optimism would unsour Reaper’s mood. This method never worked, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying. When it became clear Reaper’s arms were going to remain cross against his chest like a petulant child, she dropped hers. “All-in-all, I don’t think I could have asked for a more successful trip.”

“You burned down an entire prison. I didn’t think it would be subtle, but this-” Reaper rubbed his forehead. “This took irresponsible to the next level. The other Talon leaders and I are currently debating whether or not we will take credit for this. It doesn't make us look like an organization meant to be feared, rather one full of bumbling idiots.” He held up a claw when it looked like she was going to interrupt. “Fortunately for you, most of your witnesses are dead. A few report seeing Widow, no one reports seeing you, a number saw the transport plane and all saw that ball-of-destruction-made-man. We could feasibly pass this off on Rat breaking free, hiring a transport plane to drop him off, and Talon would be no way involved…”

So that’s why the initial reports hadn’t mentioned Talon. Reaper was actively attempting damage control. “Gabe, I told you this is how they are. You knew this is how they are.”

“I agreed with the caveat that you would manage them.” Reaper sighed heavily. “I expected you to have this under control, Sombra. I’m gravely disappointed.”

Sombra rolled her eyes. “Lo siento, Gabe, but when you get the Junkers, that’s what you get. Human balls of destruction, just like you said.” She exhaled harshly out of her nose. They had already had this conversation. Of course, Reaper would be panicking and threatening to jump ship the second things got dicey.

“We’ve put a lot of money into Rat’s recovery,” she continued, picking her words carefully as she tried to talk him down. “It would be a beneficial to Talon to give them an actual chance.”

Reaper considered it for a moment. “I’ll give the pair one more chance to prove their abilities to work as a team once they are settled in. You know how to set it up.” She nodded slowly as Reaper continued. “It’s time for you to start delivering on your promises, Sombra. Tomorrow, first thing, Roadhog will meet Dr. Schiller at her lab. Moira will be there.”

“Moira?” Fuck. Sombra’s heart sank but she tried not to let it show on her face. “Look, Gabe, when we discussed Roadhog’s involvement, you wanted to run some tests, prod around a little to see if he could benefit your soldier project.” She pulled up her screens, frantically paging through old conversations with Reaper to make sure she didn’t miss something. “That’s what I agreed to. We never discussed Moira-type testing.”

Reaper gave a disinterested shrug. “Moira oversees most things that happen in the experimental medical department. Sometimes she’s interested in involving herself, sometimes she isn’t. This project happened to catch her interest. She’s arriving later tonight.”

“Do she and Dr. Schiller even get along? Last time I checked, they had some serious ethical and philosophical disagreements.”

Reaper’s shrug continued on its upward trajectory. “Unlike some people, they know how to act like professionals.”

“Que chingados, Gabe! You can’t just change this up on me,” Sombra fumed, closing down the screens and scowling at him.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it? When you have a certain expectation and then someone completely disregards it to do what they want instead?”

“Gabe, listen-” she groaned, scratching at the back of her head.

“It’s happening, Sombra,” Reaper cut her off, moving in closer to her, lowering his voice. “As for Rat, I haven't forgotten. The treasure is coming off him. It’s just a question of whether you take it the nice way or I take it the hard way.”

“You act so sure that he has it still,” Sombra said, biting back her desire to pull herself away when Reaper tried to intimidate her. “I can’t say if he does-”

“Cut. The. Games. Sombra.” His skeletal eyes bore down on her. “Doomfist assures me that he has the treasure, from their conversation. I know you know where it is. You know everything about these two. There’s no way they’ve kept it a secret.”

“Doomfist has one fucking conversation with him and he’s the Junkrat expert. You trust him more than me?” Sombra already knew the answer to that.

“I absolutely trust him more than you,” the tone of his voice changed to disbelief. “He hasn’t made it his professional goal to lie to me over and over.”

“That he’s told you,” Sombra muttered under her breath, stepping back a little out of the direct line of his malice.

“I want movement on this and reports on the Hog’s... treatment by the end of the week. Make it happen, Sombra.” Reaper strode down the hall with all the practiced, ominous flair of a villain who checks the flutter of his cape in the mirror, before turning back one more time. “I might be stuck with you, Sombra; you’ve made yourself invaluable to this organization, but time is ticking for them.”

Just like that, he was gone, leaving Sombra with her head pressed against the door to Widow’s hospital room.

 _Keep it together. You got this._ She typed onto her summoned screens, tapping down notes and reminders, ensuring she could keep herself in check. She’d be dead before she let her head go below water. Just a few more notes, schedule a few more transactions, set an alarm for Hog in the morning…

The door to the room opened up and Sombra pitched forward, falling against the surprised sniper. Widow put her hands on Sombra’s shoulders, pushing her out to arm’s length.

“You alright?” Widow asked, a rare gleam of concern in her eyes. She wore a loose fitting shirt and pants, clothes that must have been sitting around the doctor’s office since her old attire had been shot through or bled on. It was unusual to see her dressed down to such a degree, especially out where other people could see her. Her makeup was washed away, leaving her looking a slightly more tired shade of blue.

“I was here to ask you that!” Sombra cast away her screens and forced a smile. “You look like shit, ma crevette.”

“The same could be said about you,” Widow said with a slight smile. When Sombra gave a dry laugh, distant and distracted, Widow hooked her arm into hers. “They discharged me. Apparently Dr. Schiller has more important things to worry about with Moira arriving. Walk me back to my room? We’ll talk.”

“Si…” Sombra said, trying to push a thousand thoughts and fears into their rightful places. “We’ll talk.”

***

This was not the first time Junkrat and Roadhog had argued naked. Come to think of it, Hog could recall dozens of disagreements they’d had in the nude. They had argued about so many frivolous things: the time Junkrat left a takeout container of spaghetti under the bed and refused to throw it away for five days of pure stubbornness. Or the time Rat got wigged out over a Pachimari that he insisted was ogling them during sex and demanded Hog pull out to go turn it around. Of course, there had been more serious arguments over the years, times when they both screamed and lashed out and hurt each other. But still, Hog would take any of those over the one to come.

Pegleg strapped back on, Junkrat sat on the edge of the bed and tested the strength of his legs, carefully shifting his weight forward. His knees buckled slightly but he was able to walk, slowly making his way to the bathroom past the mini-prison. Hog pulled himself up as well, tracing his fingers against his temples as the sound of water running in the bathroom hit his ears. He kept his head in his hands, feeling the pounding of his pulse through his fingers.

The clomp of the peg and the slap of his bare foot reapproached and a wet rag dropped onto his lap. No soothing fingers would carefully clean him out. No mouth would kiss up the inside of his thighs and bury back into his ass, licking him, gently biting into the soft flesh until Hog burned up with pleasure all over again. As much as Hog wanted it, as much as he wished they could just fuck the world’s problems away, the tension in the air between them wouldn’t allow it.

Rat had pulled on a pair of dark baggy shorts, pulling the knot tight on his thin waist. He fiddled with the ties, tugged at the band, picked at the lint, trying to delay while he sought the right words.

“Roadie, I…” Rat paced back and forth in front of him, clenching and unclenching his black prosthetic like it still didn’t quite feel right. “You know I didn't ask for this?” He threw his arm out to emphasize his words, gesturing to the whole wide room behind him. “I didn't want to be rescued by some all-bloody-powerful bunch of self-important cunts. How many times did we talk about this? About no needles, no doctors, no rescue?” Rat’s bushy brows knitted together and he chewed his lip, agitated. “You were supposed to get yerself out. I shoulda died back there, Hog.”

Roadhog closed his eyes as he wiped himself clean, letting Rat’s words pass over him. He tossed the cloth on the floor and stared down at his hands as he gripped his thighs. Thin fingers slipped beneath his chin and lifted him up to meet his eyes.

“You wanted ta talk, Hoggy. Now talk.”

“Sombra made me an offer while we were in Dorado,” Hog said finally, holding Junkrat’s intense gaze. “She offered an option to set up the lines of communication if we ever needed it. She said Talon might be able to use people like us, if she could pull the right strings.”

Junkrat dropped his fingers from Hog’s chin, but remained close to him, his breath warm against Hog’s face. “How long had ya been plannin’ on doing this?”

“It had never been a plan. It was always an option in the back of my head. I hadn’t even made up my mind that’s what I was going to do when I handed you over to the police.”

“When ya handed me over, ya didn’t even know if I was gonna be rescued? I coulda been fixed up and then sent to waste away in a prison?”

“It was a possibility,” Roadhog hated to admit it. The thought was an even greater torture than what had happened. “Nothing with Sombra was set in stone. It all depended on if she could convince Talon to take us on.”

“What did ya offer ‘em?” Rat rubbed his forehead, messing and flattening his eyebrows. “I’m sure ya offered them more than just our beautiful, bountiful bodies for them to use as they please.”

Hog hesitated. He remembered his desperate call with Sombra. Free Rat at any cost. He had been frantic and short on time, with hardly anything to offer her. “I told Sombra to do what she had to do, offer what she had to offer.”

Junkrat’s eyes went cold and narrowed. “Did you offer the treasure, Hoggy? _Our_ treasure?”

“Not specifically, but you know Sombra knows we have it. If anything was on the table, she might have offered it.”

“Fuck, Hog!” Rat dropped down on the bed, head in hands.

“But they haven’t taken it yet?” Roadhog asked, testingly. “Has anyone tried?”

“It’s come up,” Rat said, rubbing his palms against his legs, anxiousness in his fidgeting fingers. “No one’s tried to hold me down and beat it out of me. Told Mr. Doomfist it was in Oz, but I don’t think he bought it. Sombra didn’t say that I needed to give it to her. She woulda taken it by now, right? But… maybe she’s playin’ us.”

That thought had crossed Hog’s mind many times over the past months. She had full power over them, their very lives owed to her. It was certainly possible she had motivations that were not altogether for their own benefit.

“So to clarify, allllll of this mess-” Rat waved his hands up around his head to symbolize this whole Talon situation. “To you was a better idea than doin’ what I told ya to.”

“Absolutely.” Roadhog answered instantly, shaking his head. “Couldn’t do it.” _Flashes of glass, a smear of blood, a mangled, metal arm protruding from the wall._ “Couldn’t kill you.”

“You almost did, mate!” Rat’s voice began to unravel, traveling up in pitch in exasperation. He stood in front of Hog, fingers pulling at his own hair. “Ya already did when ya drove yer damn bike through the fuckin’ window! All ya had to do was finish the job!”

_A pulse against his fingers, dull but pressing ever on. Never seeing orange eyes blink at him again, never feeling his body squirm beneath him._

“I tried…” Hog breathed out.

“Ya tried?” Rat cocked his head, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“Sombra didn’t want you to see apparently. Didn’t show you the pictures.” Hog snarled. “I tried to do it. Choke the life out of you.” He shook his head, not making eye contact with Junkrat.

Rat’s thin fingers trailed down across his throat, tremors beginning to rack his body.

“I couldn't get your eyes out of my head. Couldn't be the one to put out their light.” Hog reached out, taking Junkrat’s quivering hand in his own. The thin fingers curled around Hog's hand. “I used to keep you alive to inflict your damage on the world, giving the world back the pain it deserves.” Roadhog tugged on his hand, urging Rat to take a few tentative steps closer to the bed, feeling body heat radiate off of each other. “But we both know that’s not what it is anymore.”

“Whatever yer motivations were,” Junkrat pulled back out of Hog's grasp, stepping back to put distance between them. “It doesn't matter. Doesn’t matter if ya tried to choke me first or if ya put a bow on me head and handed me to the docs, you didn’t follow the plan. You didn’t do what yer own boss told you to do!”

“That’s not fair,” Roadhog rose to his feet, jabbing an accusatory finger into Rat’s chest. He winced as a small amount of cum he missed in his cleanup slid down his leg. “We haven’t had the boss-employee relationship for years.”

“Fine!” Rat smacked his hand away. “Not as a boss. I told you as yer partner… as yer…” Rat bit his lip, unable to find the elusive word to sum up their unorthodox relationship. “Whatever the fuck I am to you. You should have listened. And if you weren’t gonna listen, if you had an inkling of a plan to contact Sombra if shit hit the fan, you should have told me about it! Why wouldn’t ya?”

“Because…” Hog pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because you don’t know what’s best for you.”

Rat’s flame eyes grew large. “I don’t?” His hands planted on his hips, defiant. “I don’t know what’s best for me?”

Roadhog nodded slowly, looking away from his face.

“And you do? Did I sign away my rights to make my own choices when I picked ya up at that bar? Did I sign ya up to guard me from myself?”

All of Roadhog’s danger senses were blasting at full alarm, but he was going to be honest with Rat. Now was not the time to rebuild their relationship on old lies.

“Sometimes, yes. You know that, Rat. How many times have I kept you from killing yourself? You have to admit you don’t always make the best choices. You’re erratic, impulsive. You don’t think out your plans.”

“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?” Junkrat turned on the mini-prison structure, directing his anger away from Hog with a kick to one of the prison towers left standing. “I had told ya what I wanted for years. Years! No fuckin’ doctors! That wasn’t on an impulse, it wasn’t erratic. You knew!”

“You didn’t think it through,” Roadhog said, wincing as Junkrat delivered another harsh kick to a much more solid piece of metal on the prison. “And it wasn’t fair to put that all on me. Make it my duty to hand down your death sentence.”

“Ooohhhh,” Junkrat spun around on his pegleg, glowering back at Hog. “Of course ya couldn’t do it. Poor Roadhog’s lost so many people already. He’s just one more heartbreak away from a shotgun shell to the head, eh? He’s a selfish pig who couldn’t even let go of his pathetic dying Rat. The same Rat he couldn’t even say he loves.”

Roadhog balled his fists, fingernails digging into his skin. “You have no fucking clue how hard that was. No fucking clue. No clue how much that haunts me even today.” With no mask to hide behind, he wore his rage clearly on his face. “You said you wanted to go out in a blaze of glory but that’s meaningless when you’re unconscious with half your limbs broken. There’s no glory there, only pain.”

Self-doubt gripped Junkrat’s face for a moment, the pain and anguish apparent in Hog’s voice, but he shook it off.

“I accepted what you did. Came to grips with it long ago. I’m here, I’m alive and I’m not about to bloody end it right here and now. I’ve been through too much and I came out stronger because of the choice you made for me. But you shouldn’t have left me out of that decision. You shouldn’t have decided that this was some magic ‘Door Number 3’ that you could just take and not even talk to me. We’re partners, Hog.” His voice softened, catching in the back of his throat. “We make these decisions together.”

Hog shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you know who you are? You’re fucking Jamison Junkrat Fawkes, the most stubborn asshole I have ever met in my life. If I brought this up to you, there is no way in hell you’d ever agree. The idea of Roadie and Rat selling out, shaking up with some organization? That’s not who we are! You’ve even said that before!”

“I think I woulda seen reason...”

It was taking everything in Roadhog’s power not to lose it. “Junkrat does not simply ‘see reason.’ He makes his own fucking reason that applies to his own flawed logic and understanding of the world!”

“Roadhog doesn’t see reason either!” Junkrat pulled himself to his full height, trying not to let his partner stare down at him. “And… what’s his name… fuck! Mako! Mako’s not dead and you haven’t been able to deal with that. For years, this has been the problem. He loves me- you love me.” Junkrat’s flesh hand punched into Hog’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt physically, there was no amount of force Junkrat could put behind it to make it hurt. But his words struck him like punches to the gut. “I’ve never needed ya ta say it. I’ve always known because it makes ya act like a bloody idiot! A fucking overprotective idiot! Which is why you decided what was best for me.”

Hog gripped the side of a prison frame, supporting his weight as he considered his words carefully. Rat, however, was not about to let Hog ponder his words and he plowed forward.

“And what about the times when _I_ knew what was best for _you_ , Hoggy? The times you insisted you were right, but you weren’t.”

“Name one,” Roadhog said, holding up a finger and raising an eyebrow. Maybe it wasn’t fair, Rat’s memory wasn’t great, but Hog couldn’t let him make a claim like that without backing it up.

Junkrat stared past him, narrowing and widening his eyes as he tried to reclaim lost memories. “Lotsa times… ‘s not fair to make me remember. I just know.” Rat said, throwing his arms up in defeat.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Roadhog said after a long moment, throwing his hands up. “Apologize? Beg for forgiveness? You’re healthier than ever, Rat. Look at yourself. Yes, you have work to do, but you’ll get there. I’ll be here to help you. And with the radiation treatment… you have a future, Rat.” Hog hated how his voice rattled in his throat.

“What’s this talk about a future, Hog?” Junkrat stepped towards him, eyes wide. “We never talked about a future. It was all fast and rough and livin’ like tomorrow we might blow ourselves straight to heaven. Now what do ya want? Talk about settlin’ down? Poppin’ out a couple a kids? Movin’ back to Junkertown so they can have a good schoolin’?”

Roadhog ignored the joke, Junkrat’s go-to defence mechanism. “We can talk about the future here, whatever it is. With Talon, without Talon, I don’t care. As long as you’re here, it won’t matter.”

“How can I make a future with you if you won’t learn from the past?” Rat’s face came into Hog’s view on the other side of the prison, lighting a match and dropping it onto the corrugated cardboard. Fury-induced pyromania was rare with Rat, he was much more likely to light something on fire out of joy than anger. “Ya won’t admit that ya fucked up- that ya shoulda treated me like I was yer partner and not a child who can’t wipe his own arsehole.”

“I’m not going to apologize for treating you exactly how you’ve conditioned me to treat you,” Roadhog sighed heavily, attempting to fight back the anger boiling up inside him. Hog watched as the fire cast shadows onto Rat’s face.

“How I ‘conditioned’ you to treat me?” His voice raised in pitch as he strode towards Hog, not backing down. “Wanna talk about how you conditioned me?” Rat took in a big inhale and Hog braced himself. “You conditioned me to bow to yer judgement for everythin’ because yer so old and wise and world-weary and I’m just some stupid kid who doesn’t know the back of his hand from the top of his balls.”

It took everything in Hog’s power not to cut him off here as the smoke filled the room and Junkrat’s emotions heightened.

“You conditioned me to fuckin’ thrive on yer approval for everything, because yer so withholding that the second ya give me the slightest bit of positive reinforcement, I can’t help but cream my pants and write a fuckin’ song about it.” As the fire grew, so did the speed of his words and the frenzy of gestures as he threw his arms out in exasperation.

“Rat…” Hog said cautiously, eying the blaze. It wrapped along the corridors of the prison, crackling and singeing the area around it. From the ceiling, the mangled remains of a fire alarm hung, certainly torn out by Junkrat after one of his experimental explosions.

“Three-” Junkrat held up four fingers, ignoring Hog’s protestation. “You conditioned me not to talk to you about anything that might be hard on yer emotions because big ol’ softy Hog shuts down at the slightest mention of somethin’ emotionally taxin’. Ya make me feel like I’m so needy and difficult when I jus’ want to smallest bit of emotional confirmation that, yes, Hog and Rat are on the same page, when in fact that’s a normal thing that people in normal relationships do! But then again, normal people don’t get into fuckin’ relationships with men who are so emotionally stunted that they have to wear a fuckin’ mask to hide their face so I guess I’m the fucking idiot for thinkin’ this might even have a chance of workin’. Oh and wouldya look at that, blamin’ myself, another way you’ve conditioned me to act!”

“Rat, calm down.”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to calm down! STOP TELLIN’ ME WHAT TO FUCKIN’ DO!”

Junkrat planted his bare foot on the burning tower nearest them and kicked it over with an anguished yowl. Acting as if he was impervious to the flames, Rat pounded his fists into the structure, letting loose long-pent up screams of rage. As soon as Hog saw blood running down Rat’s arm, he knew he had to step in. With a massive palm, Hog caught Rat around the waist and heaved him away from the fire. The reaction in Junkrat was instant and visceral- flailing, howling and thrashing, catching whatever skin he could grasp with his singed fingers, fingernails raking down Hog’s skin. The metal hand had quickly heated and sent waves of pain up Hog’s arm as it grasped onto his wrist. Roadhog instinctively clamped his hand down on it, feeling metal joints buckle as wrenched it from his skin.

Hog threw Junkrat back by the arm, sending the man sprawling across the bed with a grunt. Spinning around, Roadhog rushed to the far wall to snatch up a fire extinguisher and sprayed it across the charred and blazing rubble of the prison. The entire extinguisher emptied onto the smouldering structure, pluming into the room. With the dying flames, Rat’s whole body deflated and he let out a long, wheezing whimper, curling his legs up to his chest.

“Are you trying to fucking kill us?” Hog cried, dropping the extinguisher to the ground with a clatter.

Rat couldn’t look at him, couldn’t make eye contact as he clutched his knees. Hog had rarely seen Junkrat get to this point in a disagreement, shutting down entirely. Junkrat always had more words. “Just go, Roadhog,” Junkrat snarled low, whole body shaking.

“Rat...” Roadhog stared at him, unmoving. One second Junkrat was ready to burn Talon HQ down and the next he’s just defeated, burned out, exhausted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Hog wanted to touch his shuddering shoulders, wanted to comfort him, promise to put all of this behind them. He wanted to say sorry, even if he didn’t mean it, even if he thought Junkrat was wrong and off-base and irrational. Rat meant more to him than his pride. However, Hog could only open and close his mouth, words leaving him enitrely.

“GO!” Rat snatched up the nearest thing he could find- the industrial sized tub of lube- and threw it at Hog. It didn’t reach him, but it smacked the floor and rolled against Hog’s foot. Junkrat dropped back onto the bed, pulling the covers up over himself like a shield against the outside world. “It's too fuckin' late to say anythin'. Just go.”

Roadhog trudged out of the room, leaving Junkrat alone, wishing he hadn’t heard the welling of heavy breathing from his partner or the quiet, choked off sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter. It's imporant stuff and I wanted to make sure I got it right. I hope to get back to a more regular updating schedule.
> 
> Your comments keep me going and are super appreciated! I know things are rough with this fic right now, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride. These two aren't done yet.
> 
> So Moira happened between this chapter and the last. She is going to make an appearance in the plot here, mainly because she fit so well into what I had planned. I don't want you to think I didn't know what was going to happen and then she came out and I was like "ooo sure let's do Moira." She's going to add another layer to things, and I'm excited to write her.
> 
> Thanks to [VolatileSoloist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/pseuds/volatileSoloist) for beta-reading for me! He put up with a ton of drafts of this chapter for me and helped me get it to where it needed to be.
> 
> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


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